


can't start a fire (without a spark)

by purpledaisy



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Small Towns, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/pseuds/purpledaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Harry Styles is too scared to jump and Zayn Malik can't stand still; They meet in Summerville, South Carolina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't start a fire (without a spark)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetheauxven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetheauxven/gifts).



> I took your Southwestern AU prompt and turned it upside down and put it on the other side of the country because I clearly don't know geography. Enjoy!
> 
> A/N: According to Google, Summerville is a real place in South Carolina but my depiction of that town is probably not accurate so, advanced apologies to any real life Summerville residents about to read this. None of this is real, I own nothing.
> 
> Title from "Dancing In The Dark" - Bruce Springsteen

On the southwest side of South Carolina just inland from the ocean there’s a town where no one passing by ever stays for good. Summerville is a real place on the map though no one ever really picks it out on purpose. Fitting for the name, it is a summertime oasis--a stop off town on the way to coast or the perfect place for a spontaneous weekend at a bed and breakfast for a quick dose of southern charm. It’s not at the top of any lists of dream destinations and most people who pass through don’t realize they’ve gone by at all.

It’s a quiet town made up of hardworking people who own the same businesses that have been in their families for generations--there’s not a corporate name on a building inside the city limits. There are no dangers lurking around corners and no one is too busy to say hello or stop and meet a stranger. Summerville is a town of nosy people too--people who want to know who the outsiders are and what they’re doing in their town, of all places. Most people call it quaint--from the candy striped awnings over the ice cream parlor to the vintage Coca Cola machine out front of the corner store, the same one that's been there longer than anyone else can remember. That’s how it is with most things in Summerville—everything is as it’s always been and that’s how it always will be. No one passing through ever stays for good but on the off chance that they do--well, they never leave again. Most of the people who’ve lived there the longest, they couldn’t imagine life any other way.

Harry Styles, though, is not most people.

Harry always thought he’d be somewhere else by twenty-five. Maybe a little further east in Charleston or at least over the state lines in Savannah but definitely not in the same place he's always been. The only time he’s truly left Summerville was to go to university for four years and, even then, he went to a small, private school an hour drive from his childhood home.

Often times he finds himself wishing he wouldn’t have come back to Summerville after graduation, that he would have been brave like his older sister and packed up his jeep, never looked back. Two years ago, at the point of deciding to move back home or head out into the world, the very thought of leaving terrified him. Leaving everything he’d ever known for something he could hardly imagine sent him right back to his mom and stepdad's front door with a degree in English and nowhere to take it.

His mom was pleased he came back closer to home, as most mothers would be, but he could see in her eyes she’d hoped for something else. She always says she accidentally got caught in a town with two babies before she ever had the chance to leave. They were young and her husband had a good job but when it all crumbled and she was left with Gemma and Harry, she was too scared to leave too. She knew it would be stupid to leave for something bigger -- there were good elementary school and a supportive community with a low crime rate. She raised good kids on her own and got remarried when Gemma left for college. Harry knows his mom is happy, he knows she doesn’t regret staying. He also knows that her heart broke a little the day Harry came back from college for good. She never wished for her kids to follow in her footsteps like caged birds.

Harry always jokes she succeeded with one -- Gemma only ever comes home at Christmas now. He’s just the bird who happens to have a fear of heights, who pays rent from his savings for a house near the lake and got a job at his best friend’s cafe. He’s the one who has never left, the one too scared to fly.

...

The August sun is barely rising up over Summerville when Harry wakes to get ready for work. He’s quiet while he gets ready, conscious of the tabby cat still sleeping on the sofa in the main room. It’s not so much that he wants Melvin to get a full night of rest but more that Melvin is a cat with a temper from the depths of darkness who climbs Harry like a tree without the slightest hesitation and leaves smatterings of scratches all along his body and occasionally his face. The cat isn’t even his, not really. He inherited him when Gemma left for good because Melvin, evidently, doesn’t like planes and was unable to travel. Harry has never been on a plane himself, so his empathy doesn’t come easily especially when he’s tiptoeing around his own home with week-old pink scratches connecting nearly all of his tattoos.

He chews a bite of his banana while he pulls on his left boot but freezes when he sees Melvin start to stretch, his claws reaching menacingly toward the edge of the couch. The cat settles back down and Harry releases the breath that was starting to hurt his lungs, chewing his banana even faster and grabbing for his next boot. By the afternoon, the heat will have sedated Melvin to the point of casual disinterest over Harry but the cool mornings only seem to inspire him.

Harry’s mistake comes when his keys slip through his fingers and clash with the wooden ground. Melvin is up and running towards him before Harry has even bent down to pick them up--which means that by the time he does have them in-hand, he ends up sprinting for his front porch and slamming the front door closed behind him. The metallic clang of the screen doesn’t deter Melvin from lunging at the glass with his paws raised.

“Ha!” Harry yells when Melvin falls back to the ground and looks up at him. “That’s what you get for being rude.” The cat stares at him blankly before wandering away while Harry finishes locking up. He checks his reflection in the glass pane of the door, straightening the scarf holding his hair back and watching as Melvin gets back on the couch. Of all cats to inherit, Harry can’t quite believe he got one with a vendetta against him.

Outside, it’s silent. The dusky glow of five in the morning leaves a serene film over the lake where Harry’s house sits. The water is yet untouched by boats or swimmers. It’s too early even for the old men who float around in their antiqued wooden boats and pretend to fish. On the weekends, Harry likes to sit on the porch and watch the trees drag lazily in the water as the clouds overhead give way to blue skies. In the middle of the week, with a cafe waiting for him, Harry doesn’t have time to linger.

He gets his bicycle from the side of the house and walks it onto the path at the edge of his yard; the dew from the grass leaving ghosted imprints on his boots. His ride to the heart of town is easy, the paths well taken and free from any debris or cars this early in the morning. Most houses still twinkle with porch lights though the inside room lights are dimmed. Harry knows the route well, knows exactly when to turn to avoid going down Main Street. Even this early, Main Street is full of watchful eyes that he just doesn’t want to deal with yet.

On the back side of Main Street and slightly pushed back into the woods is Aurora, exactly where Harry is headed. Like him, Aurora wasn’t supposed to still be here. Originally a dilapidated house, it has taken on the renovated form of a cafe with yellow siding and Pepto-Bismol pink barn doors on the front with a wraparound porch.

Harry parks his bike along the side but doesn’t bother with locking it up. In a town like this, there’s barely a point. He locks the doors to his house out of simple habit rather than necessity.

The back door to the kitchen creaks when Harry pulls it open. Aurora has maintained the same kitchen from the original house although an extra stove has been added and another refrigerator. The floors are still faded linoleum with blue diamonds and the scuffed cupboards reflect a lifetime of wear and tear. The magic, of course, isn’t in what the kitchen looks like but in what comes out of it. Matt, one of the regular cooks is already there, washing his hands at the kitchen sink.

“Morning, Harry.” His words are muffled by a yawn as he grabs for a paper towel.

“You’re still not sleeping? I’m telling you, you and Michelle have to stop having babies.” Harry smirks and squeezes his shoulder as he passes him, “Two sets of twins under the age of five are enough.”

“Don’t I know it,” Matt calls after him, laughing. Harry is pretty confident if either Matt or Michelle ever asks him to babysit all four girls, he’d drop just about everything to do it.

The door from the kitchen opens up to the front of the café now a merged combination of what had been two larger rooms in the original house. The walls are painted dark green with light wooden trim save for the back wall by the kitchen that is painted the same pink as the front doors. The lighting only comes from the windows along the front which saves the coloring from being too garish with the natural wood floors and scuffed wooden tables. It’s the kind of place that looks straight out of a different decade, nostalgia tucked in the structure and overtly dark colors on the walls. For the people passing through, Aurora is the exact definition of the word they all crave to use the moment they cross into Summerville: quaint.

Over by the front door, Louis Tomlinson is standing on a stool and messing with something near the state mandated neon exit sign. Typically, Louis is ten minutes late to everything and only half awake for a morning shift so this is surprisingly new for him.

“I don’t know how to fix this stupid thing,” he says as he jumps off the stool.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks right when Louis hits the cement floor with both feet.

“Bell over the door went quiet,” he says. “You know how that puts Sue Anne on edge.”

“She can’t eavesdrop if she never hears them come in,” Harry says, completing the thought between them.

They both share a look before smirking and going about their separate ways, Louis tugging the stool back to the counter. Most of the seating is made up by traditional tables and chairs, but there’s a solid wooden counter around the outside edge for bar stools, only interrupted by where the wall juts out oddly and creates alcoves instead.

The natural light from outside filters in along with hanging fairy lights hanging around the beams in the ceiling which means that during the day, no one realizes there aren’t actual light fixtures but at night the entire place dives into darkness with only the dancing string lights around. Louis says it looks like a dungeon once the sky goes dark but Harry has always thought of it as more romantic.

“What are you doing here, Lou?” Harry puts his bag beneath the counter and washes his hands at the sink. It used to be a bathroom sink but everything else was knocked out during the renovations so now it’s just a normal one.

Louis jumps up on the counter and looks at Harry. “What do you mean? Own the place, don’t I?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Own is a loose term, Louis' parents bought the original house and let Louis turn it into Aurora in hopes of teaching him how to learn to run a business. “I mean its five fifteen in the morning. I don’t think you’ve ever gotten here before me.”

Louis laughs, “I guess I never did live up to being a serious business man, did I?”

Not really, Harry wants to say but he doesn’t. Since Harry came home two years ago, he’s helped Louis run Aurora as much as Louis has managed it. Harry and their other friend Liam work nearly every day while the other staff--including meddlesome Sue Anne--works only a couple shifts a week. It’s fine, really. Harry likes what the cafe has turned into and he likes that he’s such a big part of it plus the money isn’t unneeded. Still, at the end of the day, Aurora belongs to Louis and Harry is essentially the barista who handles the numbers. There are times he wishes he had spent two years working towards something of his own instead. He pushes the thought away to avoid the absent ache of his heart at the mere thought of things that could have been.

“You’re doing fine, Lou,” he says out loud. He dries his hands on the towel hanging near the sink and leans back against the counter. “The place is still standing isn’t it?”

Louis smiles, “That it is. All thanks to my best friend riding shotgun.”  Louis does finger guns again and Harry sighs.

“You’re getting ready to ask me for a favor aren’t you?”

“No,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t just compliment you?”

“Feel free to lay it on me,” Harry tips his head back and smiles, “But usually you follow that up with saying the oven is broken, we’re out of eggs or Lottie is making more money as a hairstylist than Aurora is bringing in. Again."

Louis flips him off over the last word. “I may have one favor.”

“Of course you do.”

“Can you take the pies to Niall's tonight? I can’t because I already told my mom I would take the twins to their ballet class.”

Harry had been expecting something far worse than stopping off at the town's bed and breakfast on his way home from work. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says slowly as if waiting for Louis to tack on one more addendum.

“Excellent.” Louis claps his hands together. “Have you heard from Gemma lately? Has she gone on any adventures?”

“She actually just sent me another magnet last night,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” Louis smirks but he doesn’t say anything else. Harry raises an eyebrow expectantly and this time Louis breaks, laughing. “Come on, show it to me.”

Harry bends to get back in his bag, pulling out the square of plastic with a black magnetic strip glued along the back. It’s light blue with a polka dot umbrella in the center. Simple artistry compared to some she’s sent in the past. It’s become a running joke between them, each time she goes somewhere new she gets Harry a tacky magnet.  Harry hands it to Louis.

“Greetings from Seattle,” Louis reads from just under the umbrella. He looks up at Harry, “What did she do up there?”

“Got a tattoo,” Harry says, taking the magnet back when Louis offers it. He runs his thumb over the curved edges. “She read an article about an artist up there and she just went. Only for a weekend this time, though.”

Louis whistles low through his teeth. “What a life.”

Harry nods. He could say that about a lot of people—about Louis inheriting a ready-made business, their friend Niall running his family’s bed and breakfast while his parents travel the world—and Gemma is on that list too. Partly because she’s Harry’s sister and he’s always looked up to her but mostly because she’s got a freelance writing gig and blows all of her money traveling around the country. The pictures she’s sent Harry of her permanent apartment in Connecticut shows how tiny it is but the places she goes outweigh the lack of living space. She likes to leave on a whim when she feels like it, usually by herself, and always somewhere new. Harry’s refrigerator is covered in terrible magnets from her travels.

“She says I would like it,” Harry says, flipping the magnet. “It’s a big city but there’s still a lot of water and an open air market out near one of the rivers. She said she bought sunflowers there and then ate on a deck overlooking the water.”

Louis stays quiet, staring at Harry and chewing on his bottom lip.

“What?” Harry’s smile fades from his face as he kneels to put the magnet back in his bag. He’ll find a place for it tonight, somewhere between Dallas and Cincinnati probably.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice is quieter, the way he only sounds when he’s about to say something serious. “Harry.” He repeats himself while Harry distracts himself with a clasp on the bag but finally Harry stands and faces him.

“What?” He puts his hands on his hips because he already knows what Louis is going to say.

“All of these places you talk about,” Louis says, gesturing toward the magnet in Harry’s bag but somehow encompassing his entire collection. “When are you going to go see them for yourself?”

This is where Harry can snap, and a time or two he has. He doesn’t have a lot of family money like Niall or Louis or the confidence to up and go wherever he wants on a whim like Gemma but he knows that’s not the point. The point is that Louis thinks Harry should leave Summerville and never look back. He’s told him a time or two before, mostly offhand but Harry can read his sincerity the same way he can read his sarcasm. Harry straightens his shoulders and keeps his voice light, “Someday, I guess.” He smiles, “I’ll just add it to the list.”

Louis matches his smile but neither one of them have any light in their eyes and they both can read the lie as it sits right there between them.

“Anyway,” Harry says once the fake smiling gets to be too much, “Do we have any more mugs? Three broke yesterday.”

“Three!” Louis throws his hands up, “These people are trying to bankrupt me.”

“The way you talk you’d think the whole place is about to go under, Louis.”

“We very well might be,” Louis says, always one for melodrama. Even though, he heads toward the back room where, Harry knows for a fact, a wide array of extra mugs lives. Harry would know -- he’s the one who does all of the purchasing.

In Louis’ absence, Harry asks Matt what the daily specials are and then writes them carefully on the chalkboard hanging behind the counter. He has to stand up on a stool to reach the top, choking on the chalk dust each time he makes a mistake or his handwriting gets too crowded. He jumps down as Louis comes back with the mugs, hanging them on the rack near the cash register.

“You’re covered in chalk,” Louis says when he glances over. “Do you rub your face on the board when you write or what exactly happens?”

Harry rubs at his face with the top of his forearm. “Yes, Louis. Rather than an eraser I just use my face. But at least we’re not serving tuna sandwiches with dick pickles.”

Louis narrows his eyes, “That was one time and it was an unfortunate spelling error.”

“Dick on the brain,” Harry teases, wiping his chalky hands on the towel by the sink. “Can’t blame you.”

Louis purses his lips, his eye twitches once and then his face goes back to normal. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Admitting defeat?” Harry grins. He straightens the stack of menus, thumbing the edges so they line up perfectly. “Getting soft in your old age.”

“I’m only two years older than you,” Louis defends, crossing his arms.

“And showing every day of it.”

Louis doesn’t get a chance to respond because the clock hits five-thirty and, like every other morning, Todd Danza walks in the front door.

“The bell is broken,” he says by way of greeting.

Louis’ nostrils flare as he mutters something about looking at it again, dragging over a stool to the door and climbing up.

“Don’t need a menu, I know what I want,” Todd says to Harry as if he doesn’t come in and order the exact same thing every morning. He also has acute Alzheimer’s disease so he’s never exactly sure if Harry will know or not. Somehow the bell over the door is one thing he doesn’t forget. He glances over his shoulder at Louis as if to make sure he’s still working on it.

“What would you like?” Harry asks, already writing up the order to give to Matt: Two eggs over easy, whole wheat toast with jam, home fries and a cup of coffee with coconut milk.

Todd rattles off the same list, clarifying he wants coconut milk in his coffee three different times. Harry nods along like its new information. He’s figured out, over the last year, that Todd recognizes him but he can’t place from where. Like he’s a shoe in the refrigerator and he can’t remember how it got there in the first place. It’s an odd position to be in because Harry has to act like he doesn’t see Todd every morning of his life yet has been around him in some other capacity before.

“Sounds great,” Harry says, tearing off the paper from his pad. “I’ll bring that out to you in a moment. Feel free to sit anywhere.”

Todd heads for the far corner as usual and Louis jumps down from the bar stool as soon as he’s out of earshot. “I’m just going to have to buy a new bell.”

He stands at the counter while Harry pours a fresh cup of coffee from the pot and gets out the coconut milk from the small refrigerator underneath the counter. As far as Harry knows, no one in Summerville nor the state of South Carolina, drinks coconut milk except for Todd Danza. Louis didn’t even know what it was the first time Harry put it on the buy list. Theirs is a state of sweet tea and fried foods, definitely not organic milk pulled from fruit.

“Maybe I’ll get something weird instead of a bell,” Louis says, staring off into the distance.

Harry bites his lip out of focus, careful not to overdo the coconut milk. “Like, what?”

“Like a motion detector cow that moos when anyone comes in.”

Harry sets the box of milk down and stares dead on at Louis. “For the love of all things, please don’t do that.”

Louis starts laughing as he realizes Harry would be the one to have to deal with something like a motion detector that moos since he’s at Aurora the most. Harry takes the cup of coffee to Todd without looking back at Louis smiling face. Todd is reading a book at his table but he hears Harry coming and looks up. He moves his book out of the way so that Harry can set down the mug.

“How’s Simone?” Harry asks. “Still doing okay?” It’s the same question every morning but he knows it’s a safe one.

“Blind as ever,” Todd says before he starts laughing. He laughs harder once Harry joins in. Simone is his Siamese cat who is nearly twenty years old and who has been blind since she was born. Todd makes the same joke every morning and Harry’s laughter comes with a bit more effort each morning as well.

When he gets back to the counter, Louis is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve got a fucking heart of diamonds and the patience of a saint.”

Harry rolls his eyes and starts the pot of decaf coffee next. He knows Joseph, the night guard at the post office on Main Street, will come in soon for a mug of decaf before he goes home to sleep, ending his day while everyone else is just starting. “There aren’t many other choices.”

“Really?” Louis smirks, “I can think of at least three alternatives off the top of my head.”

Before Harry can respond the front door swings open again and the Swanson family troops in, three half-awake kids in tow and one sleeping baby on Mr. Swanson’s shoulder. “We’re heading to Georgia for the weekend,” Mrs. Swanson says as her husband herds the kids towards a table. “Need an early start.”

“Sure thing,” Harry says, grabbing one of the booster seats and going to help with the baby right as another couple comes through the front door. Louis seats them and another group shows up before Harry can set down menus. It’s not even six in the morning and his day is already off and going.

Summerville is a town that moves slowly through the summer, lazily dragging its feet in the warmth and heaviness of the sun. No one ever seems to be in a hurry until now when the last days of August are easing in right before school starts up again. There are last minute vacations and errands, too many places to be all at once.

For Aurora, for Harry, it means a full day where he doesn’t sit down or stop talking once. He knows he’s too nice for his own good, helping a family reorganize their suitcases in their minivan and listening to Doris Haggerty, eighty-six and counting, read him a full page article from her newspaper. His entire day is a cast of characters in their own movies and he’s only a brief mention in their plot but he makes sure he’s not a dark spot.

During the lunch rush, nosy Sue Anne is his second in command though she prefers gossiping with any of the ladies who come in rather than clearing tables or making sure customers have enough water in their glasses. The cooks get a kick out of it when she works with Harry because he ends up running around everywhere while she chews her gum loudly and asks if anyone else noticed that the house on the corner of Waverly hasn’t mowed their lawn all summer. Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell her that _she_ doesn’t get paid to be the town’s tattler and _he_ doesn’t get paid enough to run an entire lunch shift on his own. He just takes his aching back and sweet smile to the next table to see what they would like to order.

He’s off before the dinner rush can start but he doesn’t leave right away. He double checks the supplies for the evening and cleans off a few more tables, shuts a couple of the curtains where the sun is streaming in too fiercely and heating up the wooden chairs.

“Get out of here, Harry. My god, you don’t live here now do you?”

Harry looks up to see Liam Payne standing behind the counter, pen and pad at the ready just in case the dinner blast starts early. Liam is like Harry in that they both left the town to go to college and ended up back here anyway. The difference is Liam never wants to leave. He’s dating the girl he grew up next to and he loves to work at Aurora with a kind of keen passion Harry has never seen in a server. Liam is the kind of person who will happily raise his kids on the same ground he grew up on and never regret a day of it. Harry gets an itch on the bottoms of his lungs if he thinks about raising kids here, growing old without ever seeing something else.

“No, Lima Bean,” Harry says, laughing when Liam frowns at the nickname, “I don’t live here. I just have to make sure it’s ready for you, your highness.”

Liam smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Styles.”

Harry juts his hip out to one side and pouts his lips. “Don’t I know it, babe.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Now, actually get out of here. God knows Tommo won’t pay you overtime.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head, “He’d ask me to work for free if he knew I wouldn’t knock his teeth out.”

Liam pauses and squints, “I genuinely cannot picture you doing that.”

Harry swings a couple of punches through the air, his face in a scowl. “Looks like a butterfly, stings like a bee,” he says as he walks past Liam and into the kitchen.

“That’s not even the right saying,” Liam yells after him, both of them laughing at each other.

In the kitchen, Kaya, the evening cook, smiles at Harry with three pies held in her hands. “Louis says you’re in charge of delivering these tonight?”

“That’s me,” Harry sighs, holding his arms out so she can give the pies to him carefully. The Horan’s bed and breakfast always gets desserts from Aurora for their guests after dinner and Louis or Harry drop off whatever sweet thing it may be each night.

“Tell Niall the one on the bottom is raspberry because I know it’s his favorite,” Kaya says, straightening the boxes in Harry’s arms so they won’t slip.

“Kaya,” Harry croons at her, “When are you going to Niall you’re in love with him?”

She makes it too easy for Harry to tease, blushing right away. “Get out of here,” she says, waving her hands. “Shoo!”

Harry laughs all the way out the back door and as the door swings shut he can hear Kaya laughing too. He foregoes his bike in favor of walking the short few blocks to the bed and breakfast. Knowing himself well, there would be three squashed pies and a broken man if he even attempted to ride and carry at the same time.

The heat is lazy but not scorching like it usually is in June and July. There’s a slight breeze in the air that means fall will be coming soon and, with it, duller temperatures but vibrant landscapes. Despite its name, Harry loves Summerville the most in the fall when the trees catch fire with color and the nights are crisp and cold. It spells out a fresh beginning each year, even if his fresh beginning ends up with nothing changing and just staying the same as always.

Horan’s Inn is a robin egg blue three-story house with a white picket fence and perfectly manicured lawns and shrubs. Perfectly picturesque and sweet to outsiders just like everything else in town. Harry goes in the back door to the kitchen, pushing it open with his shoulder and yelling out a greeting.

“No need to scream,” Niall says from the doorway to the lobby right as Harry finishes bellowing.

Harry laughs, “Sorry.”

“I like the headband,” Niall says as he comes into the kitchen, pointing at the scarf in Harry’s hair. “Big step up from the curtain look.”

Harry blinks at him. His hair has steadily been growing out for months and he was content to use rubber bands and stray pieces of fabric to keep it out of his face until he finally started ordering smaller scarves online. There was a particular instance where he used the rags of an older winter scarf as a headband that he’s never lived down--It’s become known at the curtain look to Niall in particular.

“I will walk out the door with these pies and dump them in the lake,” Harry threatens, taking a step towards the door.

“Really?” Niall crosses his arms, “And hurt the environment like that? Kill the innocent fish?”

“There’s no fish in there.” Harry takes another step towards the door.

“Really? Because Mr. Kayutmi from San Francisco in room eighteen caught some this morning.” Niall has such a straight face, Harry can’t be sure if he’s lying or not.

Harry sighs as he gives up and sets the pies on the big table in the center of the room. “I’m only not doing it because of your guests. And because Kaya made you raspberry pie because it’s your favorite.”

Niall’s cheeks flush as fast as Kaya’s had earlier and Harry thinks it may be his duty in life to get them together already. “Really?”

“No, I’m lying. It’s made with blood.”

Niall flips him off and looks in the top box.

“Bottom one,” Harry says. Niall flips him off with both hands this time before unstacking the boxes to sit side by side.

There’s a bell off in the distance and Niall drops the lid back on the raspberry pie. “Need to get that,” he says, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “You need to sit down and drink some sweet tea or something. Driving me crazy and you’ve been here for thirty seconds,” he mutters as he goes back towards the front. “Good evening,” he calls, louder and more cheerful as soon as he's out of sight.

Harry puts the pies in the refrigerator, stacking the boxes so the raspberry one is on top. He’s sure Niall will want to stare at it while he thinks of how to thank Kaya. This isn’t the first raspberry pie Harry’s delivered between the two of them this summer alone. He also takes Niall’s advice and pours a glass of tea from the pitcher on the counter. Niall makes it sweet as all hell to give his guests the full southern experience and it makes Harry gag with one sip. He adds water from the sink to dilute it a bit.

Rather than sitting down, though, he walks around the kitchen aimlessly, touching things as he passes just because. When he gets near the door to the front lobby he stops. The voice talking to Niall is smooth and sounds younger than the usual clientele that stop by. Niall starts laughing, loudly, and distinctly which he only does when he thinks someone is attractive. He’s never done it to Harry much to his selfish dismay.

Carefully, he sets his glass of tea down on the table and creeps through the doorway to the hall funneling out to the front desk. He’s so focused on being quiet that he hits his head on a low hanging beam and slaps his hand over his mouth when he groans at the pain. Once he recovers, he keeps walking until he’s finally able to stand behind the wall of file cabinets. Through the crack between two of the cabinets, he can only see Niall’s back, gesturing around as he gets a room key out of the desk drawer. Clearly, the mysterious voice is checking in.

Niall starts laughing hysterically again and Harry goes up on his tiptoes to see better. His breath gets punched out like a corner kick in soccer when he finally sees what’s going on. The guy on the other side of the counter and facing Niall is nothing short of beautiful; dark hair and high cheekbones with two earrings in one of his ears and a diamond stud in the other. He’s smiling at Niall and his tongue is pressed behind his teeth before he bites his lip. He has on a black leather jacket and Harry can see rings on his fingers too as he moves his hand while he talks. He’s the kind of guy in movies, definitely not the kind to check into Niall Horan’s bed and breakfast. Harry may be drooling.

“I have a guide to the town over here,” Niall says walking straight towards the cabinet where Harry is hiding. Niall catches sight of him as he’s reaching for the guide he designed himself and barely misses a beat. “Jesus Christ, Harry,” he mutters before turning back to the guest and brightening his voice as he explains all of the town’s landmarks. All three of them to be exact. Harry watches with wide-eyed fascination as Niall points the guy towards the stairs to the rest of the rooms.

“Thank you, Niall,” the stranger says as he lifts his bag onto his shoulder and Harry’s stomach flips. He has a warm voice and a sweet smile which is aimed at Niall at the moment but Harry’s convinced he can get it on himself. Soon. Somehow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Niall says, waving as the guy disappears up the twirling staircase.

“Or me,” Harry whispers so only Niall can hear him.

Niall turns to look at him through the space in the file cabinet, “You are trouble, Harry Styles. And you will not seduce my guests in my parent’s bed and breakfast.”

Harry stands up straighter so he can see over the cabinets and look at Niall head on. “And what happens if they seduce me first?”

Niall crosses himself and goes back towards the kitchen. Harry cackles in glee before following him.

“Who was he?” Harry asks in a whisper just in case the guest is still anywhere close by.

“Dunno,” Niall says with a simple shrug.  “Where’d the pies go?”

Harry points at the fridge and Niall goes automatically. “You didn’t get his name?”

Niall opens the double doors on the refrigerator. “Possibly. What will you give me if I tell you?”

“What will I give you?” Harry points where Niall is taking out one of the pie boxes. “I literally just brought you three pies.”

Niall stares at him, “That is literally your job.”

Harry crosses his arms, “Touché. How about I give you my cat?”

“Melvin?” Niall raises his eyebrows, “As if.”

Harry smiles, “Always worth a try.”

Niall pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Zayn."

Harry puts a hand to his chest, “I’m Harry.” He smiles when Niall levels a stare at him, “What?”

“The guy you were wondering about,” Niall explains, “His name is Zayn.”

“Zayn.” Harry says the name out loud to feel it on his tongue, the smooth beginning and open mouthed middle. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Niall opens the clunky top drawer under the counter and gets out a fork and knife before closing it. “How would I know? I don’t give the Spanish Inquisition the second someone walks through the front door. Not very hospitable, is it?”

Harry frowns, “Yes you do. You always ask way too many questions and get people to tell you their life’s story without second guessing themselves.”

Niall shrugs and starts cutting into the raspberry pie. It’s supposed to be for the guests but it’s not Harry’s place to tell the owner of the place what to do.

“You thought he was pretty and you were too shy to ask any questions.”

Niall shrugs again and puts a bite of pie in his mouth. It smears red on his chin and he wipes it off with the back of his hand.

Harry grins and points at Niall. “You know I’m right.” He laughs when Niall flips him off. “It’s okay, Ni. I think he’s pretty too.”

Niall swallows, “This pie is delicious.”

“That was a terrible subject change,” Harry says incredulously. “But I agree. Pies baked with love are the very best.”

Niall starts choking on the bite he’s just put in his mouth and Harry laughs gleefully. Niall leans across the table for Harry’s iced tea and takes a gulp to clear his throat. 

“Well, I should go,” Harry says, putting his hands on his hips. “Big night ahead of me and all.”

“Yeah?” Niall wipes his mouth and cuts another square from the pie.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry rubs his hands together, “I need to make dinner, fight off my demon cat, do the dishes.” He purses his lips, “Probably read a bit of my new book on the front porch.”

Niall grins, “Quite the life we live, eh? Wouldn’t change it for the world.”

If Harry’s voice is dripping sarcasm, Niall’s is steeped in honesty. Harry feels the familiar itch in his heart, the one that says he doesn’t belong in this town anymore. Not really. “Love it,” Harry says, not wanting to drag his own melodramas to the forefront at the moment. “Okay, I’m actually out of here now.” He heads for the back door, “See you on Friday? Boys night!”

“Boys night,” Niall echoes back, lifting his fork up in the air and shaking it a bit.

Harry hums as he walks back to get his bicycle from Aurora, waving at Mr. Johnston getting his mail and sticking his tongue out at the Lopez triplets playing on their front lawn. It makes them all laugh hysterically and that kind of makes him laugh too. He takes the long path home on his bike, riding slowly and enjoying the summery night. He looks forward to fall but he always enjoys the countdown too.

Melvin is waiting for him at his front door, circling Harry’s ankles as soon as he shuts the screen door behind him. He’d been exaggerating to Niall when he said he’d have to fight the cat off, the true battles are only the morning. At night, Melvin is hungry and usually happy to not be alone anymore. When he thinks about it, Harry’s happy he has the cat to keep him company too.

He has bigger wishes obviously, a human companion is the ultimate goal, but being bisexual in a small town of perfectly straight humans isn’t a cakewalk by any means—so he’ll take the cat for now. It’s not that him liking boys is controversial here; it’s more that his desire to kiss another man is comparable seeing a unicorn to everyone else -- mystical and scary but mostly fascinating. Harry knows he has it good to not be persecuted for the way he feels here but still, he feels like he’s under a microscope, a science experiment for middle class, southeastern corner America.

“You’re a two faced monster, sir,” he says to Melvin, trying to walk without stepping on the cat or his too long, overly fluffy tail. Melvin meows and Harry frowns at him. “It’s too late to apologize. You’ve left too many scars, dude.” Harry is sure there’s another world where he’s an actor or a CEO, not a guy killing time in a small town with nowhere to go and having conversations with a cat. Not this world, but one of the ones out there in the infinite universe.

He tries to be a good cat foster parent—a loose term considering Gemma is probably never coming back--so he makes Melvin’s dinner first. “Smashed salmon in gravy,” he announces, as he sets the bowl of wet cat food next to Melvin’s water bowl by the back door. “Now if that doesn’t look and smell like puke I don’t know what does.”

Melvin dives in, flicking bits against the wall, which Harry will have to clean off later.

“You’re disgusting,” he says pointing at the cat. Melvin doesn’t care.

Harry makes his own dinner of stir fried vegetables and chicken while the evening news plays dully in the background. He eats while standing up, ignoring the news and looking at his refrigerator, all of the magnets covering the front of it. He sets down his bowl long enough to get the new Seattle magnet from his bag, fitting it into the ever growing collage before he starts eating again. He chews a softened piece of broccoli while deciding where he wants to go first.

It’s a game he likes to play, deciding where he would go if someone gave him a ticket anywhere tomorrow. He thinks he’d like to go the furthest away first or maybe Alaska because Gemma hasn’t been there yet. He hasn’t decided if he would follow her footsteps or make his own. Then he remembers the bills he has to pay, electric, rent, cable and loans from college and he drags his eyes away, letting the game of imagination fade away like a popped soap bubble.

He puts his leftovers in a plastic container for later and then washes the pans he used and his bowl and fork. He washes Melvin’s dishes too because God knows he won’t do it himself. He wipes off the counters and sweeps the floor before turning off the kitchen light and turning on the porch light out front.

The air outside has cooled some so he grabs a zip up sweatshirt from his bedroom, one from college, and his book from next to his bed. He’s reading _A Man Called Ove_ and though he’s enjoying it, he hopes to never be as bitter and lonely as the main character. Melvin meows from somewhere near the couch as if to be a reminder that he’ll always be there for Harry -- extremely sharp claws and all.

Harry sits in the wooden rocking chair on his front porch and watches the falling light from the sun dance over the lake for a couple of minutes before he starts reading. He misses this in the fall and winter so he tries to soak it up during the summer, being outside with nothing but the crickets singing. There are no houses for hundreds of yards on either side of the one he has which used to scare him but now he can pretend the whole place belongs to him.

He reads until his eyes get heavy and then he goes inside to get ready for bed, shutting and locking the front door and petting behind Melvin’s ears while he sleeps on the couch. It’s hard to believe that in six hours Melvin will be out for blood again but right now he’s peaceful, purring at Harry’s touch.

Harry brushes his teeth and gets struck with an odd twist in his stomach that causes him to pause. He stares at himself in the mirror, trying to identify it, when suddenly he realizes his mind is already replaying the scene at the front desk in the lobby at Niall’s. The pretty stranger with the warm laugh and beautiful face. He points at himself in the mirror. “No,” he says out loud, voice muffled by his toothbrush and toothpaste.

He doesn’t listen to his own voice, his mind already running rampant with questions about who the mystery guy is, why he’s here of all places, if he likes boys or girls or both. Harry rolls his eyes at himself as he spits before rinsing his mouth with water.

He has a bad habit of falling in love with people he doesn’t know and will probably never talk to. He also has a bad habit of getting heartbroken when he finds out the people he loves are like, married or straight or definitely not interested in a small town guy working at a cafe. Louis says it’s because Harry likes to break his own heart, he likes to fall for someone just so he can relish in the sting of having it taken away.

Harry tries to read a bit more in his bed but he struggles to be alert so he turns off his lamp and puts the book in the spot next to him, one that hasn’t had a person to fill it in longer than Harry cares to remember. It takes him a couple of minutes to get comfortable, to kick around the covers before he pulls them up around his neck but once he does, he’s out without another moment’s pause, darkness seeping into his mind rather than dreams.

...

After going on a streak of avoiding Melvin’s morning wrath, it’s only fitting that he gets his claws on Harry the next morning. It’s a sneak attack as Harry stands in front of his muted television with a towel wrapped around his waist and reading the captions of the new broadcast. He’s eating his morning banana casually when there’s a sudden weight on his shoulders and a clawed grip on his neck. Calmly, Harry puts the banana on the side table, wincing at the burn on his skin.

“Melvin, please get off,” he asks, polite as anything. He’s tried to pry Melvin off before but, afterwards, he was missing chunks of skin that almost made him throw up.

Melvin doesn’t listen to him. Harry reaches over his head to pet at the cat and tries to convince him to jump back off nicely. He doesn’t seem convinced. Finally, Harry lies back on the couch and Melvin walks over his stomach and down his legs, settling between his feet as if this was his goal all along. Harry sticks his tongue out at him and then lays there for a minute more, trying to catch his breath. There’s no blood drawn on his neck just prick marks that sting worse than they hurt. When he goes to get up Melvin is sleeping already, firmly perched on the corner of the towel Harry had wrapped around his hips post-shower. Rather than risk another fight, Harry untucks the towel and goes stark naked back to his room. The things he does for that cat.

Aurora is busy from the moment it opens again, another day of the vacation rush and people passing through on the way to something bigger and better. Liam is working the lunch shift which frees up some time for Harry to work on the financial reports for the end of the month. He sits at the counter to compare statements and pay off the bills for electricity and water and the fee Summerville charges for Aurora being painted an ostentatious yellow. Then, he plans out specials for the rest of the week and writes out the grocery lists. Between that, Harry takes orders and runs food, makes small talk with the out of towners and checks in on the people he sees every other day. He sweeps the floors in between crowds and adjusts the legs on one of the more rickety bar stools.

Late in the afternoon, he’s in the middle of finishing a new brew of sweet tea when the door opens letting in the brief warmth of the sun. Because the bell has been broken since the weekend, Harry has been doing double takes of the door all day to see if someone new has been coming or leaving. He never likes to let someone leave without thanking them and he always greets everyone with a smile.

This time, though, his mind goes blank as the guy from yesterday, from Niall’s bed and breakfast, Zayn, walks through the door. Harry’s brain short circuits as he stares at the guy, no words of greeting coming anywhere near his lips.

For what it’s worth, the guy doesn’t notice him behind the counter; he just closes the door softly behind himself and surveys the tables, scoping one out for himself. He’s even prettier like this, Harry thinks, in the sunny daylight of the cafe in a simple white t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders. There’s ink, tons, down his arms and that’s as mesmerizing as when the guy bites his lip and shifts his eyes around until they finally land on Harry.

“Hello,” Harry says, though the word takes much more effort than it should to get out.

“Hi, how are you?” Zayn asks, taking a step towards where Harry is.

Harry is supposed to be the one asking how Zayn is, welcoming him to Aurora but instead his brain is firing blanks toward his lips. Zayn pauses halfway between the back counter and front door, a sweet crease showing between his eyebrows as if he’s trying to figure out the situation. The first thing that manages to bring Harry back to himself is when the tea he is pouring overflows the pitcher and runs down the front of his pants.

“Oh fuck,” he says as jump back. He glances up in time to see Zayn’s eyebrows rise slightly and his chest wilts in embarrassment.

Liam must hear him because he comes out of the kitchen with a towel a split second later. He takes in the scene in front of him: Harry’s soaked pants and a new customer watching from the middle of the room. Like any good host, he gives Harry a confused glance and heads for Zayn instead.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Liam says, taking a menu from the counter next to Harry and ignoring him completely.

Mortified, Harry sops up as much of the tea as he can with the towels hanging from the rack next to the counter. He sets the pitchers back in their cooling trays and ducks into the kitchen without sparing a second glance, or thought, for Liam and the rest of the customers.

“What’s up?” Matt asks. He’s hanging up his white cooking jacket and getting ready to go home, which, thankfully, means Harry is off the hook soon too. “Piss your pants?”

“What?” Harry is confused for a moment before looking down at his wet jeans where the spill has so nicely aligned around his crotch. “Oh, that. Yeah, my bladder is out of control,” he says before waving his hand in front of his jeans as if the air will dry his pants any more quickly.

Matt hands him a much larger towel, one used for when they have to mop the floors. “You might want to see a doctor about that,” he says with a smile before going out the back kitchen door leaving the next shift up to Kaya who is already behind the grill, headphones tucked in her ears.

“What the fuck was that?” Liam comes in the kitchen a moment later, voice soft but his eyes wide.

“I spilled,” Harry says, motioning towards his crotch. “Clearly.”

“You were staring at that guy like a fucking pop star had just walked through the door.”

Harry frowns, “Liam, I know you’re straight but you’re not blind, right? He’s hot.”

“So you dumped tea on yourself to impress him?”

Harry stares at him. “Yes, my master plan.”

Liam rolls his eyes and goes towards the bakery case. Like Melvin in the mornings, Harry follows.

“Well? What did he want?”

“To sit down and eat,” Liam says. He opens the glass doors and pulls out a cranberry muffin with crumbled brown sugar glaze over top. “He said he’s staying at Niall’s up the street and Niall told him to come here.”

Harry shakes his head; of course Niall had something to do with this. “I hate Niall.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Harry waves his hand between them. “So he just wants a muffin?”

“And a glass of tea,” Liam says with a smile. “Probably from the pitcher and not your pants.”

Harry frowns. “Obviously.”

“You seem pretty interested,” Liam offers Harry the plated muffin, “Take this to him?”

There’s a few quiet beats where Harry stares at the muffin before he takes it. “Fine, yes, I can do that.”

Liam smirks, “Great. He’s sitting on the left side. In case you miss him.”

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath before striding out through the kitchen door. Zayn is there, definitely on the left side, writing in a notebook from the looks of it and definitely not looking at Harry. Still, that doesn’t stop the wave of heat over Harry’s cheeks as he makes a complete one-eighty turn and goes back into the kitchen.

“Well, that was fast.” Liam is in the middle of the kitchen with his arms crossed and he doesn’t look impressed by Harry's quick reappearance.

“I can’t meet him like this, Li. It looks like I’ve wet my pants.”

Liam’s gaze lands right on Harry’s crotch and he bites his lip. “I was going to say it doesn’t but it really, really does.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, shifting around on his feet.

“Give me the damn muffin.” Liam snaps and Harry hands over the plate with a small smile.

“You’re my best friend Lima Bean.”

“Should I set it down on the table and say, ‘With love from Harry’?”

Harry turns on his heel to face Liam where he’s getting ready to open the kitchen door again. “You could but then I would cut your dick off with a butter knife."

Liam crosses his legs and scowls, “Ouch.”

Harry paces while Liam is gone, arranges the plates of prepared food in order by table but refuses to leave the kitchen. “How did it go?” He asks as soon as Liam is back with an order written up that he hands over to Kaya.

“Fine. He took the muffin and smiled. I brought him tea and he thanked me." Harry blinks and licks the corner of his lips. Liam must read it as waiting for more. “I’m sorry there’s nothing juicier to report."

“No, not that. Just, like, what is he doing here?”

Liam shrugs and starts lining plates along his arm to run to tables. Harry helps him the best he can, tucking the order slip in Liam’s shirt pocket. “He’s writing,” Liam says. “Don’t ask me what because I’m not a snoop like you,” he tacks on when Harry’s lips part. “He just has a red notebook. That’s all I’ve got.”

Before Harry can say anything else, Kieran, a part time server and senior at the local high school comes through the back door. He waves to both Liam and Harry and then puts his bag away in the cubby and turns on the water to wash his hands.

“Thank god. Your shift is over,” Liam says, adjusting a plate on his wrist. “Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs when Harry gapes, “You know you weren’t going to walk back out there and be helpful any time soon.”

Harry fish mouths and then shrugs, “That’s probably a valid point.”

Liam rolls his eyes before disappearing back to the front of the restaurant.

“Hey Kieran,” Harry says, “How was your date last weekend?” He wiggles his eyebrows a few times and Kieran groans. It was his mistake for telling Harry he’d finally got up the nerve to ask a girl vacationing at the lake to go to the movies with him.

“It was fine,” he says. Then, quieter, “Harry, did you know it kind of looks like you wet your pants?”

His voice is so sincere Harry just has to nod. “Yes, I am aware. Thank you.”

Harry tries to adjust his shirt over the wet spot before very carefully walking out from the kitchen to retrieve his bag from beneath the front counter. Zayn is still sitting over in the corner, eyes cast down at his notebook, and Liam’s back is to Harry as he talks to one of the tables in the other corner. Harry swallows nervously and gets his bag, hooking it over his shoulder as he tiptoes back into the kitchen.

Kaya drops a pan on the stove right as he walks through the door and he jumps at least a few inches off the ground in surprise but she doesn’t notice, consumed by her music. Hand over his racing heart, Harry ducks out the back door before Liam can tease him any further. The next time he sees Zayn, he’ll say something to him, introduce himself or something—if only to avoid giving his friends something to hang over his head for the rest of their lives.

…

Louis is there when Harry comes in the next morning, writing out all the checks Harry requested to pay the bills with from the day before. “This is really painful to me,” he says as soon as he sees Harry. “Writing away the money we’ve just earned.”

“Better than jail for evasion of financial responsibilities,” Harry sings, shoving his bag under the cupboard.

Louis points at him with a pen, “That’s a valid point.”

Harry grins, straightening his plaid shirt. He’d picked out one of his favorites, burgundy and teal plaid, throwing it on over a white tank that shows off the birds tattooed on his chest. Normally, he grabs the first t-shirt he sees and adds a plaid if it’s an overcast morning but today he wants to be prepared. He’s unsure of when his next opportunity to see Zayn will be exactly but he definitely doesn’t want to fuck it up. Again. Louis looks at him suspiciously but stays quiet, going back to writing out checks as Harry prepares to open.

His mind had done mental gymnastics all the night before of situations where he could potentially see Zayn again before deciding to let it happen without focusing on it too much. Of course, that is easier said than done.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait long at all for the opportunity to present itself. He’s just finished making Todd Danza’s coconut milk coffee when the front door opens and Zayn comes in. Considering it’s before six in the morning, Harry’s heart skips one confused beat before racing and pounding in his ears.

“Louis, can you handle that?” He asks as calmly as he can, tilting his head towards Zayn in the doorway and then walking away with Todd’s latte. Louis throws him a sidelong glance before going to where Zayn has just sat down at the same table as the day before.

Harry focuses carefully on Todd, asking about his blind cat and laughing on cue before slowly walking back behind the counter. Louis is still talking to Zayn and pointing out different things on the menu. Harry notices a closed notebook on the table next to him, a black pen shoved in the spiral. Zayn doesn’t seem to notice him at all. Harry starts the decaf coffee and seats two other tables before he finally catches Louis again.

“Who is that?” Louis asks out of the corner of his mouth, eyes on Zayn’s broad back.

Harry debates how much to say and at what point his fascination with someone who he’s barely said one word to becomes creepy before he tells Louis everything he knows anyway. “His name is Zayn and he’s staying at Niall’s. He came in yesterday too and Liam said he was writing in a red notebook.”

Louis raises one eyebrow. “Oh, so you know him then?”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he glances back towards Zayn before meeting Louis’ eyes. “Not really, no.”

Louis starts laughing, his eyes turning into crescent moons but the joy perfectly clear. “Well, here’s your chance. He ordered a blueberry muffin, and you can be the one to bring it to him.”

“Lou,” Harry gestures around at the other people quietly reading menus or drinking coffee. “I’m busy.”

“Nice try. Everyone else is fine.”

Harry turns back toward the kitchen to get the muffin without another word. He’s not inexperienced when it comes to talking to cute guys, per se; it’s just that it has been awhile since he’s found someone he actually wants to flirt with and he’d rather not have his practice run be with Zayn.

In the kitchen he takes out the biggest blueberry muffin from the bakery case and arranges it on a pristine square napkin in the middle of a plate. He turns it around a couple of times for the perfect angle before he rolls his eyes at himself. It’s not as if Zayn is a pastry chef or a food critic. Harry pauses before he leaves the kitchen because there’s actually a good chance Zayn might be. That could be what he's writing in his journal after all. Harry shakes his head and keeps walking, not going to back down in front of Louis. If Liam would hold his shyness over his head for the rest of his life, Louis would surely bring it with them into the afterlife.

Harry doesn’t look towards Louis as he rounds the counter and heads for where Zayn is sitting. He’s trying to think of what to say rather than just dropping the muffin and running away when he realizes he definitely can’t let Zayn know he already knows his name. Suddenly, it seems like a disaster waiting to happen and Harry’s tongue gets heavier the closer he gets. It feels like he doesn’t have control over his lips anymore, like he’s just going to shout out, “Your name is Zayn, right?” as soon as he walks up.

The anticipation builds to be too much and Harry sets the muffin on the edge of Zayn’s table without saying a word. Zayn looks up at Harry when he does and it’s more startling than the first time or seeing him a second time, this is full on heart stopping. His face is borderline perfect and his lip is caught between his teeth like he’s really focused on whatever he’s writing--food criticism or otherwise.

“I brought your muffin,” Harry says before it can get awkward, pointing as if he’s a cat presenting a mouse to his master. Inside, he crumbles in embarrassment but outside he stays long enough to half smile at Zayn.

“Oh, thanks,” Zayn says, pulling the plate closer.

Harry makes an aborted sound, a response in alien language probably, before turning away quickly. Well. It didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.

“Excuse me?”

Harry turns back so quickly, he nearly slips. Zayn is standing right there in front of him, lopsided smile and all.

“Yeah?” Halfheartedly, Harry wonders if Zayn is going to ask him out right now, if he has more gall than Harry, if he’s noticed him too.

“I ordered a cranberry muffin,” Zayn says holding up the plated muffin Harry just brought.

“Oh.” Harry’s insides curl at his mouth’s inability to communicate properly and beyond one-word statements.

“Sorry,” Zayn says. Harry should be the one apologizing but he’s just rooted to the spot instead. “Normally, I’d love to try a new flavor,” he says, “But I’m allergic to blueberries.”

“Oh god.” Harry reaches for the muffin, his eyes going wide. He nearly killed Zayn and he never even had a chance to have a proper conversation. “I’ll get you the other one, no problem.”

When Zayn smiles, his tongue presses against the backs of his teeth. Harry almost loses his train of thought completely. “I’m not like deathly allergic or anything.” Zayn gestures at the muffin, “I break out in hives, though.” He winces, “That’s probably an overshare.

He laughs again and Harry tries to smile, hopes it comes across right. For some reason, everything about Zayn is throwing him for a complete loop. “Well, we don’t want that,” Harry says dumbly. “I’ll be right back with a new muffin.”

“Thanks.” Zayn smiles once more and then goes back to his table. Harry stares for a beat before finally making his feet move back towards the kitchen.

Louis smirks from behind the counter where he’s reading a magazine. “Did he say cranberry? Shoot.” Everything in his face tells Harry this was not a hearing mistake, but a Louis prank.

Harry narrows his eyes at him but avoids flipping him off because a family with kids comes walking in right then. He leaves Louis to attend to them and he throws away the blueberry muffin in the nearest garbage. He gets a new plate just in case there are remnants of blueberry on the first plate and puts the cranberry muffin in the very center of a new white napkin. He takes steady breaths as he walks back towards Zayn, bound and determined to not embarrass himself.

“Muffin number two,” he says, setting the muffin in the exact same place as the first one.

Zayn sets down his pen and looks up, “Awesome. Thank you so much.” He points at it, “I actually had this one yesterday too. It’s that good.”

“Cranberry is my favorite,” Harry says. “In October, we do one with orange zest in it which is fantastic.” He cringes at the overzealous word choice. “Unless you’re allergic to oranges too?”

Zayn smirks. “No, only blueberries. Oranges are safe."

Harry nods and smiles, desperately trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going even as the silence between them becomes stilted. “What are you writing?” He blurts the question before he can control himself.

If Zayn is offended, he doesn’t show it. “Oh, I’m just writing some things down for work. I prefer longhand to typing it up right away.” He shrugs and smiles.

“Are you writing a story about the town? If you need to interview anyone, I can help you,” Harry says, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. All of the smooth pickups he mastered in college have vanished and left him with clunky offerings.

Zayn bites his lip, “Uh, I’m more of a fiction writer than a reporter. So, probably no interviews.”

Harry’s face heats but he hopes it doesn’t show in his cheeks. “Oh.”

“Thanks for the offer, though.”

Harry nods quickly, half smiling through his shock and embarrassment at the entirety of their interactions thus far. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, feel free to ask.” He motions vaguely toward the counter before walking away without waiting for Zayn to respond.

Right away, he can tell Louis wants to talk; his eyes track Harry all the way across the cafe. Harry shakes his head minutely at him before stopping at the other tables to check in and cash out a couple of checks.

The morning rush picks up in a hurry and he’s able to avoid both Louis and Zayn seamlessly for the next hour, wiping up spills, refilling drinks and running food. There’s a family from Wisconsin visiting and they have a toddler who keeps him entertained during one of the first lulls of the morning. She follows him around to the other tables so he finally sits at an empty table and plays a high five game before giving her a lift back to her own table. He sets her down in the booster seat and gets caught in another game--only this time the game involves pulling his hair and the little girl laughing manically each time he complains. He finally manages to extricate himself and runs right into Louis in the kitchen.

“I know you’re avoiding me,” Louis says. He’s wiping off the menus and re-stacking them near the window where he can still see the rest of the cafe. There’s always leftover syrup residue from the morning rush.

“I’m not,” Harry says, taking half of the menus from the clean stack and making sure they’re dry before stacking them again. “I’m literally busy.”

“Literally,” Louis mimics before smiling. “How’d it go with the cute boy in the corner?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Harry.

“Fine,” Harry says through tight lips. “I’m not like, trying to date him or anything. We were just chatting.”

“You think he’s cute though,” Louis says.

Harry pauses and stares at Louis. “That doesn’t mean anything."

“Sure.” Louis’ lips twitch and Harry looks down at the next menu in his pile. “You should go talk to him again, see if he needs anything.”

“You can’t do it?” Harry raises one eyebrow.

“No, I’m doing this.” He motions around at the menus. “Plus, I’m not in the market to mingle and you are.”

“Mingle?” Harry scoffs, “I hate that word.”

“Does it matter?” Louis purses his lip. “Just go talk to him again, maybe see if he wants to hang out or something. What’s that going to hurt?”

Harry swallows, “Nothing. He’s probably not even interested.”

“In you?” Louis smirks.

“Ouch.” Harry flicks Louis’ forearm. “I meant in guys in general but you might have a valid point there. I kind of made a fool of myself earlier. Offered to let him interview me like I was Taylor Swift or something.”

Louis winces but recovers well. “Maybe just go try again. God knows everyone else thinks you’re cute when you’re nervous. He might be the same way.”

“Everyone, really?” Harry laughs, “You have a crush you’re not telling me about?”

Louis points towards the kitchen door, “Get out of my kitchen,” he says.

Harry laughs but follows his orders, heads out towards the main room to see if he can embarrass himself any further in front of the best looking guy he’s seen in a very long time. He walks slowly toward Zayn this time, taking in his broad shoulders and the way his muscles move as he writes--a constant and fluid motion. Luckily Harry catches himself staring before he gets too close and blinks a couple of times to clear his dry eyes.

“Can I get you anything else?” He asks once Zayn notices he’s there. “More muffins?” He smiles. Belatedly, he realizes Zayn is still working on the first, only half of it eaten so far.

“I’m okay,” Zayn says.

Harry is ready to ask a follow-up question, something too invasive and along the lines of, “What are you doing here?” when there’s a sharp tug on the edge of his shirt. He looks down and finds Ivy, one of the Lopez triplets who always play in their front yard.

“Mr. Harry,” she says, sweetly, “Do you notice anything different about me?”

She smiles and right away Harry sees the gap where her front teeth had been previously. He does his due diligence of gasping in shock and asking how they fell out. Ivy gives a very intricate description of how they were loose and then details exactly how she wiggled for them to both come free from her gums. It’s a bit too in depth in the end, vivid descriptions of blood running down her chin and staining the bathroom sink, so Harry cuts her off with wide eyes.

“Losing two at once is lucky.”

Zayn’s voice makes Harry’s pulse speed for a fraction of a moment—he forgot that Zayn was still sitting there and watching them.

“Really?” Ivy turns towards Zayn with her gap-toothed smile.

“Definitely,” Zayn nods. “It means good luck for an entire week.”

Her eyes go impossibly wider and Harry catches Zayn’s eye when they both laugh. Ivy's mom calls to her a moment later and she runs away without another word, purple sandals slapping against the floors. Harry waves at her mom as they both disappear out the front door, the other two triplets moping behind. Harry would venture to guess they have not lost their front teeth quite yet.

“Does everyone know you here?” Zayn asks, tilting his head when Harry looks over. “Or maybe you just know everyone?”

Harry shrugs, “Small town, I guess. The kind of place where everyone knows each other’s names.”

“Not us,” Zayn says, smirking. He must be able to read Harry’s confusion because he laughs. “In my head, that was smoother. I don’t know your name and you don’t mine, I mean.”

Harry definitely doesn’t use this as the moment to mention he does, in fact, know Zayn’s name. He just smiles and touches his chest, “Harry.”

Zayn smiles, clearly pleased. “Zayn. Now I feel like I fit in here.”

Harry laughs before settling into a smile. “Clearly you’re not from around here.”

“Clearly?” Zayn raises his eyebrows, “Yikes, what’s giving me away?”

“I’m telling you, everyone knows everybody else here. The second there’s an outsider it’s like honey and a swarm of bees.” He squints at his own metaphor, “Or something like that.”

“I’m kind of getting that,” Zayn says. “Last night I went to the grocery store only to be asked what I was doing by four separate people. It took me the first three times to realize they didn’t mean just in the store but in the town.”

Harry laughs, already imagining it. “Yeah, small town joys.” He pauses, biting his lip, “So, what _are_ you doing here?”

Zayn grins and taps his fingers on his notebook. “How much time do you have?”

Harry looks out at the cafe, quickly notices a few glasses that can be filled with sweet tea and a group walking up the front steps but then he catches Louis waving him away frantically, he smirks. “Enough,” he says, moving the chair across from Zayn and sitting down. “Maybe give me the Spark Notes version for now.”

A bit delayed, Harry realizes Zayn might have been speaking hypothetically and not expecting Harry to actually pull up a chair. Zayn doesn’t look too alarmed by the development so Harry is thankful for that at least.

“Like I said earlier, I’m a writer,” Zayn says, motioning at his notebook. “And I can’t get inspiration in the same places all the time so I guess I’m a nomad too. I pick a new place every once in a while, somewhere I’ve never been, and I go.” He lifts a shoulder, “I stay until the inspiration runs out and then I go to a new place.”

“You don’t ever go home?” Harry asks carefully.

“For holidays,” Zayn says. “I’m from Chicago originally so my parents and sisters are still there. After my first book--”

“Wait,” Harry puts a hand up, “First book? Book?”

Zayn smiles and it’s so different from all of the other ones, more shy. “Yeah, I have two books published.”

“Two?” Harry claps his mouth shut once he realizes he is kind of gaping. “Well, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says, swallowing. “It’s what I love to do so I’m lucky to make a living from it right now.”

Harry nods, thinking of all the half-finished stories on his laptop. He never had the attention to span to get anything substantial near finished. “So you just took off from home to write?”

Zayn laughs, “Well when you say it like that, I sound crazy.” He bites the inside of his lip, “But, yeah, pretty much. I got a map of the states and closed my eyes. I pointed at Minnesota first and so I went.”

“Minnesota? Anything good there?” Harry doesn’t even have a magnet for Minnesota.

“I was an idiot and went right in the middle of January. It was cold and I got snowed in the cabin I had rented.”

“You finish your book?” Harry smirks.

“A chunk of it because I had no other option,” Zayn says, laughing over his words. “So I’ve decided it’s my thing. I’ve gone to Montana, California, and Texas so far this year.”

Harry claps his hands in his lap to save himself from emphatically telling Zayn how cool that is. “So this is the next place you put your finger on?”

Zayn smiles, “Yep. Technically my finger went in the ocean but I’m scared of sharks, so.” He shrugs.

“I’m glad you’re here, then.” Harry says, “And I hope it’s inspirational enough.” He lifts his eyebrows up and down, “Perhaps you’ll find yourself a muse.” He wants to put the words back in his mouth as soon as they're out but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind.

“Perhaps.” He takes off the corner of his muffin and puts it in his mouth without breaking eye contact with Harry.

“I should get back to work,” Harry says looking away first. “But feel free to stay however long you’d like. We’re happy to have you.” He stands up and pushes the chair back in underneath the table.

They smile at each other for a quick moment before there’s a crash in the kitchen that convinces Harry it really is time to get back to work. The crash ends up being a dropped mixing bowl but the real problem is a field trip from the senior center crowding in ten minutes later with a bunch of hard of hearing and very opinionated old people. That’s enough to keep Harry and Louis both occupied through the afternoon.

That evening, Harry puts Zayn’s name into Google and finds his first book. It’s listed in Contemporary Romance and the reviews have him labeled as a modern Nicholas Sparks with a twist for dark humor. Harry tries not to swoon as he downloads it to his Kindle. He stays up far too late reading and by the time he puts his Kindle back down, his eyes sting from being so tired. He decides it’s worth it.

...

“You’re telling me you would rather have a s’more with plain chocolate than one with a peanut butter cup?” Liam stares at Harry as if he’s grown an eyeball in the center of his forehead.

“Yes,” Harry says. “A melted peanut butter cup is all tacky and like, glues your mouth shut.”

“Unbelievable,” Liam says throwing his hands up in the air. There’s an early afternoon lull in Aurora which means there is plenty of time to battle about s’more fillings.

Harry laughs as he finishes straightening the straws in their container. It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else when they are sticking out in different direction so the lid has to be jammed on but Harry can’t stand it, especially when it’s so easy to fix.

“I’m just going to text Niall to get them anyway.” Liam sticks his tongue out as he goes back to his phone. “I shouldn’t have even asked you.”

Harry sticks his tongue out in return before laughing. It’s a Friday and hard to get anyone down when the weekend is only around the corner. Not to mention, Friday night is boy’s night between Liam, Niall, Louis, and Harry. It started out as a group sleepover when they were kids and has slowly transformed into drinking beer, talking about sex and having burping contests. It has also, evidently, evolved to include s’mores which Niall is in charge of providing. Harry is still firmly in the plain chocolate camp when it comes to fillings.

He’s getting ready to have Liam ask for cider too when Zayn walks through the front doors of the cafe. He has his red notebook in hand and he waves with it as he comes toward Harry and Liam at the counter. Harry holds true that his stomach doesn’t back flip but there may be a couple of butterflies taking manic flight when Zayn smiles at him.

“This place is becoming my bad habit,” he says. “I tried to write at that lake a few blocks over but I kept thinking about muffins.” He laughs and Harry grins at him.

“To be fair, they are really good muffins,” Liam says. His eyes shift back and forth between Harry and Zayn. “I’m Liam, by the way.” He puts his phone down to offer his hand. “I meant to introduce myself the other day when you came in.

Zayn says his own name as he shakes Liam’s hand. “Harry says this is the town where everyone knows each other so I might as well join in,” he says.

“Are you staying for a while, then?” Liam leans one hip against the counter and folds his arms.

“Awhile, yeah,” Zayn says, nodding. “Need my inspiration, right?”

“Zayn is a writer,” Harry supplies for Liam. He nearly says he downloaded his first book and binge-read the first half overnight but he stays quiet to save himself from mortification.

“Nice.” Liam grins, “I wouldn’t write for fun if my life depended on it.” There’s an uneasy pause before he starts laughing and Zayn follows suit.

“Feel free to sit down,” Harry gestures towards the table where Zayn has sat the last couple of days. “I can get you the muffin you came all this way for.”

“Great, yeah.” Zayn bites his lip like he’s going to say something else but then walks away anyway. Harry is met with an unfamiliar twinge to know what it was he was thinking; to know a lot of the things he’s thinking of, really.

Harry realizes he’s smiling after him when Liam raises an eyebrow at him. Harry raises both eyebrows back in a question and a warning for him not to do anything stupid. Liam doesn’t get the message.

“Hey, Zayn?” Liam stares at Harry as he says it before shifting his focus when Zayn turns around. “Pick one: A s’more with a peanut butter cup or a s’more with plain chocolate?”

“Peanut butter cup, I guess,” he says slowly like he’s gauging if it’s the right answer.

Liam cheers and Harry slaps his hand to his forehead.

“What?” Zayn looks between them, half smiling.

“Zayn,” Liam says, very obviously not catching Harry’s narrowed eyes, “Would you like to come to boy’s night tonight? We’ll have peanut butter cup s’mores.”

“Yeah, that’d be sick actually.” Harry feels Zayn’s gaze before he meets it. “If that's okay?”

Like whiplash Harry feels annoyance at Liam melt into surprise into hope and then into something else he can’t identify--something with the butterflies in his stomach again when Zayn looks at him. “Yeah, of course,” he says, meaning it.

Liam claps his hands once, “Great. Zayn, I’ll show you how to get to Tommo’s. Harry, how about that muffin?” He raises his eyebrows at Harry’s shocked face and then winks as he goes over to Zayn, already pointing out the window toward the path to Louis’ house.

…

“Are you nervous?”

Harry swallows his mouthful of beer and shakes his head.

Louis looks up from pouring a bag of chips in a giant orange bowl. “Then would you mind not pacing like a lunatic anymore?”

Harry stops dead in the middle of Louis’ kitchen. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it again. Pacing is his nervous tick but he has no reason to be nervous. It’s just boy’s night—the same thing every week for as long as they’ve all been in the same town.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, taking another swig from the bottle of beer in his hand.

Even in college when they were all four separated, they used to video chat in the middle of the week to catch up. It’s always been just the four of them except for now, tonight, because Zayn is coming. Harry is decidedly not nervous about seeing Zayn save for the tiny spark in his stomach that lights up like a wayward Christmas bulb when he thinks about seeing Zayn again.

“You actually like him, huh?” Louis smirks when Harry stares at him. “Can read your face like a magazine, babe.”

Harry rolls his eyes and takes another big gulp of beer. “I don’t know anything about him. How can I like someone who I don’t know anything about?”

Louis shrugs and gets a beer from the refrigerator. “Because you always like the people you know nothing about.” He pops the top on his can and lifts it towards Harry in cheers.

Harry lifts his bottle in a halfhearted response. It’s safe to say he falls for people before he finds out everything there is to know about them but only sometimes does that end up in being burned. Usually it’s more of a half-lit flame that’s extinguished painlessly in the end. He’s never had a burning heartache or a truly broken heart. He’s never met someone worth risking the hurt for.

The front door bangs open and Liam comes in holding a paper grocery bag with a small smile. “Thought the door was jammed,” he excuses, kicking it back shut again.

“Fuckin’ nearly took it off its hinges,” Louis says, gesturing between Liam and the door.

“Hardly.” Liam rolls his eyes, “Anyone else here?”

“Just us,” Louis says. “What’d you bring?”

Liam sets down the bag on the kitchen counter, identifying each item as he gets it out. “Cheetos, fruit snacks, veggie tray, and cider for Harry.”

Harry perks up at the mention of hard cider, his favorite drink for fall. He downs the rest of the beer and takes a bottle of cider from the pack. “You’re my hero, Lima.”

Liam rolls his eyes but smiles all the same.

“Watch him get wasted before Zayn even comes,” Louis says, pointing at where Harry is prying the cap from the new bottle.

“I have a little more tolerance than that, thank you.” Harry smirks as he gets the cap undone and takes the first sip. Eventually, he’ll mix cider and cinnamon whiskey together but it’s still only August. He can’t give away all of his fall favorites before the season even begins.

“Party’s here!” Niall turns the corner into the kitchen a moment later, arms full of bags.

“Are you referring to yourself, or?” Louis asks.

“Brought Zayn with me,” Niall jerks his head back as if to point behind him. Harry takes another drink.

“All I brought was beer,” Zayn says, coming around behind Niall and holding up a six-pack. He’s wearing a leather jacket and Harry’s eyes almost cross on sight alone. Zayn is clearly his kryptonite.

“We never say no to more beer, Zayn,” Louis says, lifting his own can. “Now would be the ideal time to tell you my name is Louis and this is my house.”

All five of them laugh and Harry feels something loosening behind his ribs. For some reason, it’s important to him tonight goes well and everyone else likes Zayn as much as he already does.

“I brought all of the s’mores stuff,” Niall announces, dumping out his grocery bags on the counter. “Peanut butter cups and all.” He looks over at Harry, “Liam said you were begging for them?”

Liam grins and Harry can’t help his smile over his words, “Liam is full of shit.”

Things get muddled after that, packages of chips and crackers being torn open and dumped into bowls and on plates. Harry gets to making nachos with the supplies Niall has brought, loading a pan with tortilla chips and cheese, olives, sour cream, avocado, beans, and too much salsa over the top. Louis disappears to start the bonfire in his backyard and Harry feels a nervous swoop when he takes Zayn with him. Of all people to overshare on Harry’s dirtiest and most embarrassing secrets, it would be Louis. Niall and Liam oversee the nacho process and then pluck the toppings off with their fingers as soon as the chips are ready, complaining about the melting cheese burning their lips.

“How’s London?” Niall asks Liam with a chip bit between his teeth, “Is she ready for the school year?”

“I think so,” Liam says. He chews and then exhales as if to cool the food already in his mouth.

Harry rolls his eyes as he puts the ingredients back in the refrigerator. By the end of the night no one will take the time to remember the tub of sour cream is supposed to be kept cold.

“She’s dragged the house halfway to hell with art projects for her classroom,” Liam says once he swallows. “She always says she can’t be too nervous because the kids can smell fear.”

“I believe that,” Niall says wisely. “And Harry, how’s Melvin?”

Harry flips him off as he shuts the freezer door.

“What?” Niall takes another one of the nachos from the pan. “I haven’t asked you since, like Tuesday.”

“You asked about Liam’s girlfriend and then my cat.”

“I didn’t want you to feel left out,” Niall says, as if it’s a reasonable explanation. “Dang, Harry these are good.”

“Thanks, I’ve been practicing nacho making with my cat all week.”

Niall stares at Harry while he chews, “You need to get laid.”

“Speaking of,” Harry cuts in before Liam can join the bandwagon, “How’s Kaya?”

Niall doesn’t miss a beat or glance at Harry; he just keeps chewing as if he’s heard nothing. “Should we see if Tommo has burnt down his backyard?”

“Or if he’s scared Zayn away,” Liam says. “Which would be a shame, really. He’s grown on me this week.”

Harry grabs armfuls of chip bags and the nacho pan to take outside but stays quiet. No one needs to know exactly how much Zayn has grown on him in the past week either. Obsession is rarely flattering.

Louis’ house backs up into tree coverage on all sides and has a way of making everything feel secluded. Beyond the trees is the edge of the lake but getting through the trees is a feat by itself so they usually walk the long way around instead. In addition to privacy, Louis has a fire pit and a wooden table – his own miniature city park in his backyard.

Harry and Niall put down all of the food on the picnic table while Liam and Zayn arrange chairs around the fire and then haul out a giant cooler for the beer. Louis keeps adding things into the already raging fire until Niall reminds him it’s the very end of August and the trees are dry enough to light up like a Christmas tree if a flame goes astray.

“They probably wouldn’t let me keep Aurora if I burnt down everything around the lake, huh?” Louis smiles around at all of them when they laugh dryly at him.

Harry gets a second cider before he sits down in the turquoise camp chair he always chooses right between Niall and Louis. He pretends not to notice when Zayn sits directly across from him. It’s not important. There’s some argument about the best kind of beer and who wants a bottle or a can before they all finally settle down, the flames licking the air above their heads and adding a wave of warmth to the slowly chilling summer air.

“So, Zayn, tell us all about yourself,” Louis says, smiling over the edge of his beer.

Zayn looks around at all of them before clearing his throat. “What is it you want to know?”

“Everything,” Louis says. “Every detail from birth to now.”

Niall talks over him before Harry gets a chance to. “He’s full of shit, Zayn. Don’t listen to him.”

Zayn smiles, “If you want to hear my first words and know when I took my first steps, I’m more than happy to share. You might fall asleep, fair warning.”

“You’re a writer, right?” Liam grins, “Let’s start there instead.”

“You’re skipping the most exciting details of my life, Liam.” Zayn smiles right at Liam and Harry feels a flash of something in his chest. He wants Zayn to smile at him like that. “But, yeah, I’m a writer. It sounds pretentious when you say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

“It sounds cool, though, I think,” Harry says when everyone else laughs. “Like, you’re actually a published writer. You’re not just fucking around with a notepad and a pen and pretending to be Shakespeare or something.”

Zayn’s smile is somehow softer when he looks at Harry. “I did fuck around with a notepad and a pen for a long time, to be honest.”

“Hold up, you’re published?” Louis tilts his beer towards Zayn.

“Twice,” Harry chimes in, grinning when he looks at Zayn.

“Really?” Niall leans forward in his chair. “You didn’t tell me that. Do you have like an agent and everything?”

“What kind of books do you write?” Liam adds onto the questions already hanging in the air.

Zayn holds one hand in the air laughing, “Uh, I am published, I do have an agent and I tend to write more contemporary fiction than anything. Did I cover it all?”

“Very good,” Louis says, sitting back in his chair. He crosses his ankle of his knee. “You can keep up with us. I like that.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Lou, you make it sound like we’re a gang.”

Louis blows Harry a kiss, “We are, love. A small town gang with big hearts.” He glances at Zayn, “Does that sound like the plot of a story you’d want to write? I charge royalties but,” he shrugs, “Discounted for you.”

Zayn eyes him wearily before he laughs and Harry grins despite himself. Zayn is some kind of beautiful whenever he smiles.

“Does anyone feel like buying school supplies?” Liam asks apropos nothing. When Harry looks over, he sees that Liam is looking up at the darkening sky and appearing to ask the universe his question.

“Damn, Li. Give me whiplash with the direction change,” Louis says.

Liam straightens and looks at them again. “Sorry, just thinking. Like, August always makes me want to buy school supplies.”

“Must I remind you, your girlfriend is a teacher and always buys school supplies in August?” Niall stands up to get another beer and ruffles Liam’s hair. Like an overgrown puppy, Liam leans into it.

“I get it,” Harry says. “We’ve spent more years buying school supplies in August than not, yeah?”

“I’m going to trust your math,” Louis says opening another beer. The top clicks against the metal followed by a satisfying gasp of fizz.

“It’s definitely the atmosphere of the season,” Niall adds. “And like, going to the store and seeing kids with big baskets of pencils and paper and shit.”

“I might be alone in this but I still do buy school supplies.” Zayn smiles when all eyes turn to him. Harry’s gaze may have been there already but no one seems to have noticed.

“Zayn, are you secretly seventeen and starting high school?”

Zayn winks at Louis, “Caught me.”

“What do you get?” Niall asks.

“Depends,” Zayn shrugs and lifts his beer vertical to his lips before shaking it and setting it on the ground. He leans towards the cooler and gets another bottle out. “Usually, I get a sick folder or something, maybe a pencil case. I got Spiderman pencils last year.” He grins at Liam’s approving gasp.

“What do you do with them?” Niall, again, seems to think everything about Zayn is a revelation.

“Just use them I guess.” Zayn laughs slightly.

“What did you think, Ni?” Harry nudges him with his knee.

“I don’t know. It’s just different, you know. I’ve never even considered buying pencils in August since high school.”

“It’s nostalgia,” Harry says. “I don’t buy anything but I walk through. It reminds me of the anticipation of a new year and like, nerves about your new classes.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, “You’re also a freak about fall, so.”

“Same, Harry.”

Harry looks toward Zayn’s voice so quickly his skull feels like it whacks his brain. Zayn bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh at him.

“New Year’s is great because it’s a very obvious new start but September is more subtle. It kind of reminds you it’s not too late to do anything,” Zayn says. “You can start right over then and there if you really want.”

Suddenly, Harry wishes the fire was gone, that his three best friends would vanish too, and he could be alone with Zayn. He holds Zayn’s gaze and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing or if he just wonders why the guy in the plaid shirt with a scarf pushing his hair back seems infatuated by everything he says.

“Damn, man, that’s why you’re a writer.”

Reality comes rushing back as Louis wipes a fake tear from his cheek. Zayn breaks eye contact with Harry but only to flip Louis off, which Harry can appreciate.

“Speaking of fall,” Liam says suddenly, “I think London wants a fall wedding.”

“You’re not getting married, Li. Like, no way,” Louis says, pointing with the neck of his beer bottle. “I need to get married first. I’m older anyway.”

“You have to ask Danielle to marry you before you can go calling dibs on weddings,” Niall says. “And for that matter, Liam, why are you and London talking about weddings? I thought she wanted to get more time in the school before you proposed.”

Here is where Harry tunes everything else out. Debates about weddings, about his straight friends’ girlfriends, aren’t of particular interest to him. He’d rather talk about politics than how everyone is going to end up married with kids and their happily ever after lives while he tries to figure out what he’s doing with his day to day life. He doesn’t resent his friends for figuring things out sooner than him – but he can’t say that he has much to add to their conversations either. He does think fall would be a gorgeous time for a wedding but as Louis and Liam argue about who is going to propose to their girlfriends first, he stays quiet.

He peels the label from his cider bottle, sliding his thumb gently under the adhesive on all of the edges. One time he managed to pull off an entire label without tearing it once while Liam and Louis argued over how many kids they each should have.

“I think you guys should just get married,” he says suddenly, cutting off Louis mid sarcastic comment. “You bicker like you’re already there.” He grins and they throw him smiles before going back to their argument. Harry rolls his eyes and when he catches Zayn’s eye across the flames again, he winks. He’s happy, maybe too much so, when Zayn smiles back.

Liam and Louis fade into the background again as Harry realizes how cold he’s getting. This is how they really know summer is ending, goosebumps before midnight. “I’m getting a jacket,” Harry says, standing up. “Anyone need anything?”

Niall holds out his phone, “Can you plug this into charge. My charger is on the counter.”

Harry takes the phone with a groan, “I was only asking to be nice, Nialler.”

Liam and Louis start talking louder as he walks away, each of them trying to be loudest. It’s not a competition, Louis always wins. Their voices are cut off once Harry gets in the house, though. He sees a text from Kaya on Niall’s phone as he plugs the charger in and the screen lights up. It makes him feel like a snoop but at least Niall doesn’t have message previews on because Harry would be forced to read that too.

He turns on the light over the stairs as he heads for Louis’ room. He trips over a pile of clothes in the middle of the bedroom and makes a delayed squawk of a sound as he falls to his knees. “Fuck, Lou,” he whispers into the darkness though he can’t be sure why he’s whispering. He turns on the light next to the door and heads for the closet. He grabs a black sweatshirt and definitely sniffs it before pulling it on – Louis’ idea of clean isn’t always the same as everyone else’s. He steps on a pile of condoms as he walks out but he’s thankful to see they’re all still wrapped when he lifts his foot. Louis house can be like a death trap, he thinks, as he turns out the light and heads back down the stairs.

He turns from the stairs to the hallway leading into the kitchen when his body slams into something else in the dark. As it reaches out for him, he realizes the something is a person but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t shriek as his heart takes off at the rate of a speeding car.

“Sorry.” Zayn’s voice is laced with a smile and once Harry’s eyes focus he realizes it really is Zayn and Zayn is grinning at him, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Harry says, putting one hand over his heart to feel its beating wings beneath his palm.

“I’m trying to find the bathroom,” Zayn says.

Slowly, Harry realizes Zayn’s hands are on his waist where he caught him in the dark hallway. Zayn must realize at the same time because he pulls his hands back and puts them behind his back.

“It’s just around the edges of the stairs.” Harry points with his thumb over his shoulder.

“Right.” Zayn clears his throat, “Guess I could have turned on a light.”

“That would have been one idea,” Harry says fairly. Selfishly, he’s happy for the darkness because it means they’re standing inches away and he can smell camp fire and beer on Zayn. They both stand there for a beat, Zayn now knowing where the bathroom is and Harry having no reason to be inside at all anymore. It feels too fragile to pull away.

Zayn does anyway. “Right,” he says as he did only a moment before. “I’ll see you back out there then?”

“Sounds good,” Harry says over his shoulder, walking quickly out into the backyard before he does or says something stupid.

Niall must notice Harry coming out first. “What took so long?” He asks.

Liam holds up a cider as Harry passes by and he takes it. He grabs a bottle opener from the edge of the fire pit and it’s warm against his palm.

“He was probably jerking off in the bathroom,” Louis says, crunching a beer can in his fist. “Visions of Zayn dancing in his head.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, bending the cap off of his beer and sitting back down.

“Oh,” Louis says, voice light, “I believe we’ve found a soft spot, Mr. Styles.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says, slower this time as if to be clearer. “Again.”

Louis laughs and Niall launches into a story about a new guest at the inn. Harry is surprised to find his hands shaking as he lifts the bottle of cider to his lips. There’s an itch under his ribs that makes him think his crush on Zayn isn’t about to go away.

…

Sundays are Harry’s one day off and he likes to take them slowly. Waking up only to fall asleep again and then moving to the front porch to read in the early sun. Afterward, he makes an omelet for breakfast and has a full on conversation with Melvin. Melvin seems to know it’s a Sunday too, following Harry around without attacking him, licking his bare heels as he stands in the kitchen. Harry writes out a grocery shopping list for later in the week and uses one of Gemma’s magnets to stick it up. There’s no way he’s going grocery shopping on a Sunday and facing an inquisition from everyone else in town who has decided to shop as well.

He lies on the couch for a while and watches the second half of Never Been Kissed since it’s already on television. Melvin sleeps between his legs, his tail raising goose bumps on Harry’s legs as it circles his ankle bone listlessly. Harry scrolls through his Instagram but gives up after a while. He finds it hard to not feel a vague twinge in his stomach as he watches his friends from college go on exotic vacations or post engagement photos. He really doesn’t want to see photos from anyone who already has their lives somewhat together—he has enough of those people he can see face to face.

As he thinks that, his phone rings in his face which is probably the universe’s way of telling him not to be a whiny baby and to be thankful for his friends. He answers the call from Liam and tells the universe he’ll try harder.

Liam’s phone call is an invitation to go to the lake and Harry is quick to agree, knocking Melvin to the ground in a rush to get to his swimsuit. He can taste fall with the tip of his tongue but he wants to hold onto summer for at least one more weekend. He pulls on black swim shorts and an old white Rolling Stones t-shirt while Melvin circles his feet as if waiting to be invited along.

“Believe me,” Harry says as he throws a beach towel and sunscreen in his backpack, “You want no part in this.” Melvin just stares petulantly at Harry while he pulls his hair up in a messy half bun and runs out the door, sunglasses caught between his lips.

Harry spots Liam’s red truck down by the docks first and then he sees Liam and Louis hauling a cooler down from the back tailgate. There are a few other groups of people scattered around the bank but it’s not as bad as the peak days of summer. By the time Harry gets down to the edge of the lake, Liam and Louis are sitting on the tailgate with beers in hand and a cooler full of ice and more beer below their feet.

“We even brought you some terrible cider, Styles,” Louis says by way of greeting.

“I’m sure it was left over from Friday but thought that counts, man.” Harry sticks his tongue out and then grabs a can of beer. He pops the top and pulls his sunglasses out of his hair to rest on his face.

“I feel like this is a funeral for the sun,” Liam says. “It’s got that orange glow to it. You know what I mean?”

“Nope,” Louis says automatically.

“Fuck off,” Liam says.

“I do. It’s like white hot all summer,” Harry says, tilting his head towards the sky. “And then it glows orange in autumn. It’s probably the way the earth tilts or something.”

“Brains and a body, look at you.” Louis’ eyebrows come above his aviator sunglasses as he wiggles them above Harry.

Harry doesn’t even blink, “Shut up. Is Niall coming?”

Liam shakes his head, “No, he always says summer Sundays are his busy days.”

Harry can feel his skin getting warmer so he drops his backpack to the ground and strips off his shirt to apply sunscreen. Somewhere across the lake and around the bend in the house he grew up in, his mom is cheering him on. He rubs it on evenly over his arms and shoulders but asks Liam to do his back. He’d ask Louis to do it but the last time he did, Louis dumped half the bottle in his hair and said it was an accident. His apology came over his laughter while he tried to catch his breath.

“Done,” Liam announces as he snaps the top of the sunscreen down.

Harry doesn’t even get a chance to thank him before Louis sets the edge of his icy beer on the back of Harry’s neck and makes him yell. “God,” he says, swatting at his skin to heat it up again, “This is like when we were in elementary school and you all wouldn’t let me play with you because I was younger.”

Louis smirks and takes a sip of his beer, so satisfied with himself it radiates like an aura. “You had to be initiated, babe.”

“And now?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Now it’s just fun,” Louis says shrugging. He looks over his shoulder and waves.

“Who’s that?” Harry asks, squinting where Louis is looking.

“Zayn.” Louis jumps out of the bed of the truck and starts walking towards him, his feet sinking in the sand

“Zayn?” Harry looks to Liam.

“I invited him along,” Liam says and then he pauses. “Is that okay with you? I didn’t even think to ask.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Harry says quickly. “I’m glad you thought of it, actually.” He keeps his own thoughts about how he should have done some crunches before coming to himself. It’s not as though a six-pack would appear in the time between him waking up and coming to the lake but, still.

Harry waves at Zayn as he gets closer. He’s in jean shorts and a low cut tank top with the same sunglasses as Louis. There’s so much ink to take in on his arms and shoulders, Harry struggles to look at all of it at once.

“This is sick,” Zayn says smiling at Liam and Harry once he gets to the truck. “There’s almost no one around.”

“People are scared of us, Zayn. I keep telling you that,” Louis says, getting a beer from the cooler and handing it to Zayn.

“In your wet dreams, Tommo.” Liam ducks when Louis tries to shove him.

“No notebook?” Harry blushes--of all things to say to Zayn first, a greeting would have been a preferable choice.

Zayn holds his empty hands up and smiles, “I couldn’t sleep so I wrote all this morning. Figured I could use a break.”

“Fair enough,” Harry says. He wants to add that he’s happy Zayn has come at all but he decides to save that for his inner monologue instead.

They stand around the truck and drink beer for a while longer, talking about nothing in particular until Louis decides to dive off the dock into the water. Liam and Zayn start talking about comic books which, unfortunately, Harry has no opinion or working knowledge of to participate in the conversation without embarrassing himself in front of Zayn.

He wanders off to where Louis is floating on his back in the deeper water. Inspired, Harry lays his towel out on the warm wood of the dock. He lies down on his back and closes his eyes, knowing the serenity may not last more than a couple of minutes before Louis is motivated to splash him but he tests his luck anyway. At the truck, he can still hear Liam and Zayn talking, laughing about something but he’s not sure what. Their voices turn to a lull only disrupted by gentle splashes of water against the edges of the dock.

Despite his initial efforts to only rest his eyes, Harry falls asleep anyway. The next thing he realizes, he’s blinking awake beneath the sun, his skin warm to the touch and probably a bit burnt regardless of his earlier sunscreen.

He rolls from his back to his stomach and then nearly off the dock completely when he realizes Zayn is sitting right next to him, his legs hanging over the dock, feet in the water. Harry has a perfect view of his side where his shirt gapes, smooth abs and ink he’s too disoriented to identify.

“Holy fuck,” Harry says with his heart racing in shock.

“Sorry,” Zayn smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Harry’s heart starts to calm as he realizes Zayn chose to sit by him—that Louis and Liam are nowhere to be found and Zayn chose him. In turn, that makes his heart pick up all over again. “It’s okay,” he manages. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place.” He folds his arms under his head and looks up at Zayn. Even with his sunglasses he still has to squint against the bright sunlight. “Where’d the other two disappear to?"

Zayn points over his shoulder toward the rest of the lake. “Swimming.”

When Harry squints harder he can see two human like figures out further, water splashing out around them. “There’s a rope swing over there,” he says. “They love it more than anyone else in the entire town, I swear.”

“Not you?” Zayn raises his eyebrows over the edge of his sunglasses.

“I had a really bad experience,” Harry says, already laughing.

“You have to tell me,” Zayn says. He puts his hands in his lap and Harry’s eye catches on his rings as he twists them.

Harry bites his lip, hesitating over the potential embarrassment. “Okay. Disclaimer, I was only seven and when I went for the first time it was with Liam, Louis, and Ni. They’re all older than me so I wanted to impress them enough to like me.”

“So you could be a part of their boy gang?”

Harry laughs at Zayn’s smirk. “Something like that, yeah.”  He pushes his sunglasses up his nose with his finger. “Anyway, so I’m like trying to be a badass and swinging from the rope back and forth and back and forth when I realize I don’t know when to let go.”

“Over the water I would presume,” Zayn says grinning.

Harry flips him off but he’s smiling so he doesn’t know if it counts. “There was adrenaline and I was freaking out and so I just let go with my eyes closed.”

Zayn leans in slightly, “And then what happened?”

Harry sucks his lips into his mouth before exhaling. “I let go over a giant ditch on the bank and fell in a muddy pit essentially.”

Zayn laughs harder than Harry expects, almost going silent with it. “What did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” Harry talks louder over Zayn’s laughter. “I figured God would be on my side and help me out a bit more than that.”

“You can blame God but I’m thinking that was all gravity’s fault.”

Harry hides his face against his forearm for a second before looking up at Zayn again. “You sound like Louis.”

“Your plan worked though, didn’t it? You’ve all been friends since you were kids, yeah?”

Harry feels his lips twitch as he tries not to smile. “That day they were all just scared to let me go back to my mom covered in mud.”

“See? Good friends,” Zayn smirks. “So you’ve never gone back?”

“Never,” Harry confirms. “Well, I’ve gone but not on the rope swing. You could probably still swim out and catch them. See it for yourself.”

“Nah.” Zayn kicks out a leg and it splashes water up towards Harry. It soothes his warm on his back. “I hate swimming.”

“Good story?”

“Too big of an imagination, actually. I always think there’s like, going to be sharks and whales and stuff in open water.”

“Even in a manmade lake in South Carolina?” Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Yep, even now.” Zayn smiles, “I’m okay with bathtubs.”

“I would hope,” Harry says, incredulous. “I don’t know what kind of bathtubs you have going for you but I would think you’d notice a killer whale in there.”

Zayn laughs and rests back on his hands behind him. Harry tries very hard to look away from his flat stomach beneath his shirt. He clears his throat to remind himself to get a grip and that sunglasses are not invisibility shields for his wandering eyes.  Zayn must mistake the sound for a question because he looks down at Harry, waiting for more.

“So, how do you like it here so far?” Harry asks. A valid question if not one he thought of on the fly.

“It’s,” Zayn scrunches his nose as if deciding, “It’s charming.”

Harry snorts, “That’s a word for it.”

“Not in a bad way,” he says quickly. “Like, it’s very southern with the sweet tea and everyone is nice even if they do already know each other.”

“I’m not offended,” Harry says. He restacks his arms to relieve the pressure of the wood under his arm. “I’ve been trying to find a way out of this quaint town my whole life.”

“Yeah?”

Harry nods, “I nearly managed it when I went to college and then still ended up back here somehow. You know that Springsteen song about New Jersey? ‘It’s a death trap’? It’s kind of like that.”

Zayn hums, “What’s so bad about it?”

Harry smirks, “Nothing and maybe that’s what’s wrong in the end. There’s nothing bad that happens here because nothing happens. Everyone is nice and smiles even if they don’t want to, and they’re perfectly content to live in this bubble down here without even wanting to see everything else.” He shakes his head to stop himself before he gets too invested in a rant.

“It’s definitely a bubble,” Zayn says. “I think I may be the only Muslim man in the entire town.”

“That’s probably true,” Harry says. “And it’s not even prejudice that scares people away. It’s the unicorn effect.”

“Unicorn effect?”

“Different isn’t bad here but it’s unusual. Everyone treats it like they’re seeing a unicorn. Not scared, not trying to hurt but completely ignorant to how to act.”

Zayn laughs, “There has been a lot of staring.”

Harry wonders how far he should go with their back and forth confessional before he pinches the skin above his elbow and does it anyway. “I’m bi and I may be the only bi man in the town limits. The only out one at least. My high school had a couple other kids who were queer but once they went to college they never came back. Niall is bi too and the fact that we’re best friends who don’t sleep together on the side just blows everyone’s minds.”

“I’m Muslim and gay. Can I join in your freak show?” Zayn laughs and Harry’s heart stops, backflips and then starts again at twice the original speed before he can even smile.

“A three ring circus,” Harry says, smirking.

It’s quiet for a moment both of them seeming to settle with the new information.  Harry rests the side of his head on top of his arms, looking out over the water. There’s a slight breeze that’s enough to cool him slightly, blowing the baby wisps of hair against the back of his neck.

“Was it hard?” Zayn asks eventually. “Hard growing up here?”

“Cakewalk compared to some people’s lives,” Harry says without turning to look at Zayn. Harder because I couldn’t figure as much out about myself, I guess. It’s hard to think you’re one way when you have no one else to compare it with, you know? All I knew was that I was different but I didn’t know how. Then I went to college and got four years of excellent self-exploration.” He laughs despite himself.

“And you came back to everyone treating you like a unicorn?”

Harry smirks, “Yep. Like, my friends and my family get it and they think I’m normal and all. It’s the people who have always lived here who act like a celebrity is in their midst when it’s just me.”

“Just you,” Zayn snorts. “Not magical or mystical.”

“Not at all,” Harry sighs. “What about you? Was it hard?”

“As hard as it always is,” Zayn says. “But no worse for me than anyone else either. Chicago is big, you know. You can grow a third eye and people will just walk past you on the streets because there’s something else to worry about.”

“To be fair, if I saw someone with a third eye, I don’t think I’d keep walking.”

“That is pretty reasonable,” Zayn says. “Is that a naked mermaid on your arm?” He laughs at himself, “Sorry, I don’t know how I haven’t noticed that?”

Harry lifts his head to look down at his tattoo, shifting it around in the light. “I try to cover it up at work,” he says. “I don’t want to have to teach any kids anatomy or anything.”

Zayn crinkles his nose and looks impossibly pretty in the process. “Why the mermaid though?”

Harry scoffs and takes his sunglasses off. The sun is so bright he has to close his eyes as he talks. “Because I am a mermaid,” he says, “Duh.”

Then, like the embarrassment he continues to be, he intentionally rolls off the edge of the dock and into the water. The water splashes up on Zayn and Harry chokes on a lungful of water laughing when Zayn yells about it.

…

Harry sees Zayn nearly every day for the next two weeks and the best part is that he doesn’t even have to try. Without fail, at some point each day, Zayn ends up in the café, notebook in hand. He always sits at a table in the corner and bites his lip while he writes. Harry is significantly less productive when Zayn is around but he tries his best if only so Louis won’t call him on it and tease him any more than usual.

There’s no particular schedule to when Zayn will come which leaves Harry on guard most of the day while he waits. A couple of times, Zayn doesn’t come until after the lunch rush has fully died and afternoon is waning to evening. While he waits, Harry feels a vice like grip on his stomach and it only tightens as the hours drag on. But when Zayn walks through the door it releases all at once, warmth flooding from the pit of his stomach to the top of his head. If he was confused about his feeling, that flood tells him everything he needs to know.

“Where do you go?” Harry asks on one day when Zayn comes in five minutes before Harry is off of his shift. He hopes he doesn’t sound surly but he really does spend most of his day with one eye on the door.

“You mean when I’m not here?” Zayn laughs, and flips the cover of his notebook back and forth a couple of times.

Harry nods, not trusting his voice to make him sound like any less of a fourteen year old in the midst of a heart rush.

“I just try out different places to write, I guess.” Zayn shrugs, “I haven’t found any places that I like as much as Aurora.”

“No muses lingering by the lake or on Main Street?” Harry’s kidding but he notices the way Zayn freezes, cover stopping mid flip.

“Nope,” he says, swallowing.

Harry wants to know what that’s all about but there’s a field trip of kids coming to learn how to run a café and they choose that moment to show up. School started on the Tuesday after their afternoon at the lake and brought with it requests for field trips and presentations from Harry and Louis. The problem with living in a town no bigger than a pin prick seems to be the only interesting things are completely ordinary ones – like touring the local café.

Harry has his orders down like he does with the other regulars. Zayn rarely eats full meals at Aurora preferring smaller things like his trademark muffins or scones and sometimes soup or half of a turkey sandwich. September picks up speed as fall filters through--the sun still lingering in the afternoon with the night falling earlier. Harry loves it – the leaves around Aurora catching fire with color and the upswing in orders of hot cider and warm stew.

At the end of the first week after the lake, Harry is in the middle of staring at Zayn – at the fluid movement of his pen across the paper, the slope of his cheekbones while he looks down—when Zayn looks right up at him.

Harry tries to look away but he doesn’t think he manages it in time. His cheeks flush as red as the plaid shirt he’s wearing and then Zayn is up out of his chair and walking straight towards him. Harry thinks this must be it – Zayn is finally going to tell him that the weird staring has to stop, that it’s getting creepy and Zayn is losing his focus. Instead, he stops at the counter and lays his hands out flat. They stare at each other, Harry’s heart hammering away quietly in his ears before Zayn laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says.

Harry looks down at Zayn’s rings, a silver skull on his thumb before meeting his eyes and smiling. “Try me.”

Zayn purses his lips and squints as if choosing where to begin. “So, when I was in Connecticut last year there was a diner that made this one sandwich. I used to eat it all the time until I was sick of it completely. But now it’s been awhile and I really want one.”

Harry blinks, “Oh, are you asking me if we can make it?”

“Kind of.” Zayn bites the corner of his lip, “I don’t want to sound like a dick because I could probably make it on my own but I just was hoping I could skip that step.”

Harry laughs and gets his pad of paper from the counter and his pencil from behind his ear. “Hit me with it and I’ll tell you if it’s impossible. Spoiler alert, it’s probably not.” When Zayn grins Harry is pretty sure he won’t care if Zayn wants unicorn blood in the sandwich – he’ll still try to make it happen. He’s a people pleaser but, as of late, he’s a Zayn pleaser especially.

“Okay, so bread,” Zayn says, and Harry rolls his eyes. He writes it down anyway. “Then, peanut butter, and then jelly.”

Harry puts the pencil down, “Are you legitimately asking me to make you a P.B. and J?”

“No,” Zayn says, pointing at Harry. “Actually, yes, but different.”

Harry sighs as dramatically as possible and picks up his pencil, “Bread, peanut butter, jelly, next?”

“Sliced strawberries.”

“Sliced strawberries,” Harry drawls back to him. “As opposed to chopped or?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says laughing. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, so then another piece of bread with peanut butter on top of it. What?”

Harry laughs when Zayn stops talking and stares at him. “I didn’t say anything,” he says holding up his hands.

“Your eyebrows were literally jumping off your face.”

“That’s exaggerating a bit.”

Zayn’s nostrils flare. “Alright, I don’t think I want this sandwich anymore.” He puts his hand on Harry’s arm, “Thank you for your help.”

Harry ignores the electricity racing through his arm at Zayn’s touch. “No, no, Zayn you can’t give up this easy. I need to know what’s next.” He pouts his lips, “Please.”

Zayn narrows his eyes at him, “You’re hard to resist. Do you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Harry smirks. The problem, he thinks, is that Zayn seems perfectly able to resist Harry’s stares and smiles anyway.

Zayn bites the corner of his lip and nods, “On the peanut butter, you put granola and then another piece of bread.”

Harry whistles, “This is not a normal PB and J. This is some fancy shit.”

“You're such an asshole,” Zayn says. “You’re so sweet to everyone else in here except me.”

Harry gasps, “I’m always sweet to you. I can be sweeter if you let me.” He adds on a wink for campiness so he doesn’t look like he’s trying to be seductive. Even if he might be.

“I'm kidding,” Zayn says. “You’re sweet like a Georgia peach.”

Harry frowns, “We’re in South Carolina.”

“Don’t fight me on this.”

Harry smiles slowly when Zayn pouts at him. “You go sit and I’ll make your sandwich.”

Zayn takes a step back and points at Harry. “See? Sweet like a Georgia peach.” If Harry blushes he turns away fast enough that Zayn can’t see.

It doesn’t take long at all for Matt to make the sandwich. He doesn’t ask why Harry is supervising him or asking him to make something that is nowhere near being on the menu, though he does cast him a sidelong look when he hands the sandwich over, like he knows Harry is up to something.

“You’re supposed to take a break,” Louis says when Harry comes out of the kitchen with the plate. “Every four hours you’re supposed to take a break for fifteen minutes.”

“Louis, did the employment bureau send you another handbook?”

Louis holds up a thick manual, “Yes and I’m putting it into practice starting with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, grinning as he turns on his heel. He has more important matters to tend to.

He presents the sandwich to Zayn with all of the excitement and fervor he can manage, doing jazz hands around the plate. Zayn’s grin is completely worth it.

“This is exactly what I was thinking of,” he says. He closes his notebook and pushes it to the edge of the table. “You’re my hero.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Happy to help.” He turns away but Zayn’s voice makes him stop.

“Didn’t Louis just say you need a break?”

Harry turns, “He talks loud, doesn’t he?”

“So sit with me,” Zayn kicks out the chair across from him. “At least for a minute and try my sandwich.” Harry pauses and Zayn’s eyes go wider. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” Harry says, sitting down on the chair with a pleased smile.

He watches as Zayn carefully cuts the sandwich in squares before setting one on a napkin and sliding it towards Harry.

“Try,” Zayn says, nodding at the square. He licks a bit of jelly off his thumb and Harry definitely loses track watching his pink mouth before clearing his throat.

“Okay,” he says. He lifts the square and bites half of it into his mouth, careful to get a little bit of each of the smorgasbord of toppings. He wipes peanut butter from the corner of his mouth while he chews. He makes obnoxious humming sounds before swallowing.

“So?” Zayn takes a bite of his own portion of the sandwich. “Thoughts?”

Harry smiles, “Really good. We should add it to the menu. Call it ‘The Zayn’.”

Zayn grins, “Remember me even when I’m gone. I like it.”

There’s a flash at the quick reference to the fact Zayn will eventually have to leave. Harry pushes that down because it doesn’t really matter in the end. Whatever happens will happen, his life will continue as will Zayn’s. Their souls are in no way intertwined.

“I’ll have to talk to management,” Harry says wisely.

“Should I just ask Louis myself?” Zayn says before they both start laughing.

Harry's fifteen minute break turns into nearly an hour after that. They talk about random things, first jobs and first crushes, concerts and vacations, all of the places Zayn has lived. Harry feels badly about it at first but Louis waves him off when he starts to get up at one point. So, he focuses on the moments with Zayn instead, their conversation as opposed to his usual anxieties or the butterflies in his stomach. He stays right in the moment and he feels warmth curling in his stomach, happiness tucked between his ribs.

…

The first night Zayn goes with Harry to take desserts to Niall, it’s only by chance. They’re both leaving at the same time from Aurora and headed in the same direction. The next time Harry goes, though, Zayn is leaning against the front of Aurora, ankles crossed and doing something on his phone.

Harry has his hands full with double fudge brownies but he stops to ask all the same. “Zayn, are you stalking me?”

Zayn smirks and pushes off from the side of the café to meet Harry down on the sidewalk. “Caught red-handed,” he grins as he puts his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.  “Now tell me,” he says once they start walking, “Do we get to eat the dessert at the end or is that not part of this? Because I might change my mind about waiting for you next time.”

“Guess you’ll find out,” Harry says, as mysteriously as he can manage. “All a part of the journey, my friend.”

That night, the journey includes sitting in the kitchen of Niall’s bed and breakfast and eating double fudge brownies with Niall until all three of them are nearly sick with it. When Harry walks home he feels like he’s floating on a cloud but no one needs to know that besides him.

“I should just make you take the desserts back to Niall yourself,” Harry says the fourth time he and Zayn meet up to walk back to the bed and breakfast together.

Secretly, he looks forward to it. When they’re in the café they don’t have as much time to talk as they do when they walk each night. There’s a selfish twist there too, Harry likes that only the two of them walk together, there’s no Louis or Liam to steal away Zayn’s attention and he doesn’t have to worry about Sue Anne trying to hear what they’re talking about.

She’s obsessed with Zayn, it turns out. Sue Anne thinks he looks like a model, as she has told anyone who will listen, including her husband. Harry always laughs when she walks past Zayn’s table because she slows her steps down to a near crawl, staring at him like she’s waiting for him to do something outrageous.

“Nah,” Zayn says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’d miss getting to walk with you every night.”

A thousand fluttering butterflies take off in Harry’s stomach but he ignores it in favor of smiling at Zayn and admitting, quietly, “Me too.”

They walk side by side, leaves crunching under their boots as the sun setting releases an autumnal orange backdrop to the entire town at once. Conversation is easy between them and Harry is glad for it. There have been times when Harry has been so infatuated with people he doesn’t realize they never have anything to say to each other until it’s too late. With Zayn, there’s no lingering time to debate whether it’s awkward or strange.

By the middle of September, Harry isn’t the only one who ends up infatuated with Zayn though everyone else seems to like him on a different level than he does. Some days Harry comes into work only to see Zayn already there, writing, but other times Liam or Louis will be sitting with him and his red notebook is closed on the corner of his table. When he goes to Niall’s alone, Zayn is almost always somewhere nearby and the two of them have countless inside jokes Harry doesn’t try to understand. Zayn comes to the weekly guy’s nights including another bonfire and then a bar crawl to the three bars on Main Street. Seemingly, they all become friends without a second thought and when they hang out it makes sense that someone has already invited Zayn to come along too.

“I like him,” Louis announces to Harry in the middle or Aurora.

“Took you long enough,” Harry smirks, nudging him with his elbow.

“We can’t all fall in love at first sight.”

Harry’s cheeks flush as he continues to brew the cup of tea he’s working on for a customer. “I’m not in love.”

“Good,” Louis says. “Because Zayn isn’t going to be here forever, you know. So, you can crush and I’d definitely recommend making out with him,” he laughs when Harry’s eyes go wide in shock, “But don’t you go falling in love. That can only end badly.”

“Christ, Lou. I’m twenty-five, not your thirteen year old sister.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Louis says. “I see how you look at the man.”

Zayn chooses right then to walk in the front door so Harry kicks Louis hard in the shin. What Zayn doesn’t know, he doesn’t need to. Though, by the sounds of things, Harry needs to get his wandering gaze under control.  

…

Harry gets two more magnets from Gemma in September—one from Palm Springs, California and the other closer to home in Charlotte, North Carolina. He tries not to indulge in the sting of knowing how close she was without coming down any further to visit Summerville.

The magnets come with their usual handwritten post cards saying that Gemma loves him and hope’s he’s eating enough vegetables—their running joke that neither of them can remember starting. Harry nudges the magnets in along the others once he gets them, feeling a bit like a hoarder when he has to move some up to the freezer side. Melvin stares at him blankly from the counter where he’s definitely not supposed to sit.

“You shouldn’t be up there,” Harry says to him one morning, drinking a cup of coffee while they have a stare down. Melvin doesn’t have the decency to reply, he just jumps from the counter and goes back to the couch. When Harry works the afternoon shift at Aurora, coming in after lunch, Melvin has no problem waking up and being nice like a normal cat. It’s only the early mornings that send him climbing up Harry’s body like the scratching post he’s always wanted.

After another cup of coffee and re-organizing the magnets once more, Harry leaves for work, rain gently coming down as he rides his bike with the hood of his jacket pulled up. The wheels of his bike spit water from the roads back up to the ankles of his pants and this, he decides, is the one part of fall he can do without.

Aurora is lazy and quiet when he gets there – middle of the week and middle of the day never means a raucous crowd, especially in this town. Louis leaves when Harry comes – they only need one cook and one person to run food and take orders on the quiet days. As has become habit, Harry notices that Zayn isn’t at his usual table yet but rather than spending time dwelling over when he’s going to show up, he read a book behind the back counter.

He’s only interrupted to pour cups of coffee for the older couple reading their newspapers in the corner and then to put together a to-go order for a family of four that calls in. It starts raining harder when they pull up our front to pick it up so he runs the bags out to their car rather than having them get out and get wet.

The dinner rush is agonizingly slow and the sky outside is no help, slowly getting darker with rain clouds and then the night rolling in faster. With nothing else to distract him, Harry starts to disappear into his own thoughts as he traces the wooden grain of the counter. He finds it hard, sometimes, to acknowledge that his dreams didn’t come true. That the excitement he had about leaving Summerville for college and everything that lay beyond only circled back to him being here, now; A waiter in an empty café watching the rain slip and slide down the windows. He had built out life to be a skyscraper and he thought he was going to be on an elevator headed for the penthouse suite by now so it’s a hard dose of reality to figure out his elevator was only ever going to the second floor.

He’s pulled from his dim daydreams when he sees Zayn coming up the front walk of Aurora. He assumes it’s Zayn at least, in all dark clothes with one tattooed hand holding his hood forward over his face. There are not a lot of tattooed hands in the town limits--Harry and Zayn may be the only two.

Harry tries, and probably fails, to look busy as Zayn comes in but that means shuffling around the napkins he just ate a scone off of and sending crumbs flying all at once.

“Hey,” Zayn says, shutting the door behind him. “Quiet night?”

The rain gets a little louder outside the windows. “Unbelievably so,” Harry says. “I haven’t heard a human voice in at least two hours.”

Zayn smirks, “I’m afraid you won’t hear much of one now either. I took a road trip today and got behind on my writing. Badly.”

“Road trip?”

“I went to Georgia,” Zayn says, smiling.

“Georgia.” Harry blinks, “And what did you find there?”

“A peach tree farm. Swear to you.”

“Was that what you were hoping for?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you ever do anything without expecting anything? Just trying it.”

“Sure,” Harry says, knowing it’s a lie. That’s always been his problem – he doesn’t want to try anything without knowing what happens next. He doesn’t leap it he can’t already see the bottom. “Are you hungry?” Harry asks instead of elaborating.

“Of course,” Zayn says, “Why else would I be here?”

“For me?” Harry says, “My outstanding company?”

Zayn grimaces, “Sorry, babe. It’s all about the peanut butter sandwiches for me.”

“Watch out, I’ll spit in your food.”

Zayn gasps. “I’ll give you a one star review on Yelp. You know it’s legal to do that now.”

Harry smirks, “You think anyone here uses Yelp?"

“That’s probably a valid point.”

Harry laughs, “Go sit, I’ll get your food.”

When he comes back out of the kitchen, Zayn is sitting where Harry had just been, up at the counter on a bar stool.

“Switching it up,” he says, sheepishly, when Harry sets down his sandwich.

“It’s not as if anyone is here to fight you on it.” Before the words are fully out of his mouth, the door opens to a small group in wet rain coats. “See, I should never say stuff like that,” Harry says. “Bites me in the ass every time.”

He calls out a greeting as he gets a stack of menus and seats the group at a long table in the middle. They’re all from New York and visiting Charleston for a conference – how they ended up two hours south in this blip of a town is anyone’s guess. They keep Harry and Kaya busy enough with their orders and calling everything about the town, the cafe, and them old-fashioned and sweet. They’re exactly the kind of people that pass through here– the ones who want a postcard to remember the charming town but who would never dream of staying.

Harry manages to sneak glances at Zayn in the between moments like the sad person he is becoming, watching him pick at his sandwich and write veraciously, occasionally shaking out his hand and massaging his wrist. The longer he watches, the more Harry wants to stand over his shoulder and see what he’s putting down on the paper, see what’s going on that is making his hand blur across the page. He knows that kind of behavior is not condoned though, so he controls himself.

Once the big group leaves, Harry has a couple more smaller tables but he already knows the people sitting there so it’s mostly business as usual. Kaya makes him a cheeseburger for dinner which he takes back to where Zayn has been sitting all evening.

“Do you mind?” Harry asks as he sits down.

Zayn smiles and shakes his head, “Of course not,” before going back to writing.

Harry eats and browses through his phone, scrolling through Instagram and then the news. Once the cafe empties out of everyone besides Zayn, Harry gets his book out again and reads at the counter.

For a moment, a brief glimpse, Harry feels like he could be back in college but without the added stress of knowing how many due dates he’s evading. His eyes stop tracking words on the page as he loses himself thinking about what could have been -- if Zayn went to his school and they met as freshmen, maybe they could have become friends and then over time they would have started dating, studying together in an empty cafe. Blood rushes to his face at his own thoughts as he realizes what it is he’s implying. Not for the first time, he’s thankful no one else can see into his mind.

“Isn’t this a bit unsafe?”

Harry slaps his hand down on his book as he looks up, the sudden and distorted feeling as though he can’t remember the last couple of minutes, if he’s said something out loud or not. Zayn doesn’t seem to notice his panic, just taps his pencil on the metal spiral of his notebook.

“What?” Harry says, his voice is broken. He clears his throat.

“You’re so distracted reading someone could rob this place and you wouldn’t even know. Isn’t that unsafe?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, “I’m still listening. I would hear if someone came in here and took something. Or I would hope you would mention something.”

Zayn smiles, “And if I was the bad guy?”

“In no world are you the bad guy,” Harry says, voice earnest. Maybe too earnest.

“Yeah?” Zayn raises and eyebrow, lifting his fist from his lap. He opens his palm to reveal a salt shaker that he, evidently, had been attempting to steal.

“Salt?” Harry tilts his head, “Really? That’s terribly uninventive.”

Zayn sets the salt down and laugh. “Don’t you worry about someone taking something while you’re not looking? Even if you know everyone?”

Harry smirks, “Zayn, stuff like that doesn’t happen in a town like this. It’s just not possible.”

“People base murder novels in towns like this because of statements like that.”

“Is that what you’re writing in there?” Harry points at Zayn’s journal. “A crime novel?”

Zayn hums, “Someday. I want to write true crime eventually. I have a lot of things I want to do.”

“Don’t we all,” Harry says, folding the corner page on his book and closing it. “Not enough time to do it all, though.”

“I don’t think so."

Harry looks up at him.

“I don’t think it’s ever too late to start something or do something. Time is just a construct we made up.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and points at Zayn. “Nerd.” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Harry, I’m out of here.”

He turns around at the sound of Kaya’s voice to find her standing in the doorway of the kitchen with her rain jacket on and her bag over her shoulder.

“Are we closed?” He turns towards where the clock used to hang on the wall -- only past tense because Louis took it away to create more of a Zen atmosphere. He read it in a management newsletter online. Now, it’s just inconvenient for Harry.

Kaya laughs, “Uh, the kitchen is closed so I would recommend closing the restaurant too.”

“Shoot,” Harry says, patting his pockets aimlessly as if that will help him catch up with the time he’s lost. “I wasn’t even paying attention.”

“Do you need help locking up?” Kaya asks, eyes moving slowly between Harry and where Zayn is still sitting.

Harry shakes his head and goes to the front door to flip the lock. “Should be fine. I’ll head out in a little bit.”

She nods but doesn’t take her eyes off Zayn. “Okay. I’ll just be up at Niall’s if you need anything.”

“Niall’s?” Zayn looks surprised, glancing toward Harry and then back to Kaya.

Harry laughs into his fist before covering it with a cough. Kaya glares at Harry but he holds up his hands, he hasn’t said a thing.

“Yes, Niall’s,” she repeats, rolling her eyes. Harry catches her smirking anyway. “Goodnight, boys,” she sings as she goes into the kitchen. They both call goodnight after her waiting for the back door to shut quietly.

“I didn’t realize they were hanging out,” Harry says, going back to his spot across from Zayn and behind the counter.

“Me neither.” Zayn closes his notebook and taps the cover, “I haven’t actually talked to Niall about it but when he mentions her, there’s something in the way he says her name, you know? Something between the letters that doesn’t exist when you or I say it.”

Suddenly Harry is very conscious of the way he say’s Zayn’s name as the rain gets steadily heavier against the windows, wind whistling in through the tiniest of cracks between the window frames.

“Is this normal?” Zayn asks, looking towards one of the windows. “All this rain?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs. “It’s usually later in the fall rather than the third week of September.”

“Well that sucks.”

Harry smirks, “Why’s that?”

“I have to walk in that,” he says, pointing.

“And what am I going to do, float home?” Harry laughs.

Zayn pauses, considering. “That’s true.”

“You can wait it out,” Harry offers. “I’m not going to run out there any time soon so you’re more than welcome.”

The wind pushes the rain harder against the window for a moment, makes it sound worse than it really is. “I think I will,” Zayn says.

Harry taps his fingers against the counter. “In the name of honesty you should know when I close I usually raid the kitchen. Will you judge me if I do that right now?”

Zayn smiles and shakes his head. “Not as long as you bring back something for me too.”

“I can do that.” Harry claps his hands together and turns on his heel to go into the kitchen.

Harry never likes to close – to be the last person in Aurora. It’s eerie to only hear his footsteps when he is so used to hearing background noise at the very least. The dark kitchen makes it seem as though something is going to jump out at him around every corner. His heart settles to know Zayn is still sitting at the counter, if he screams at least someone will hear.

Harry browses the freezer and both refrigerators before settling on what he wants. There is a plate of brownies, extras from the haul Louis brought to Niall earlier in the evening, and vanilla ice cream—an Aurora staple. Harry heats the brownies in the microwave and then scoops ice cream over the top, grabbing a couple of clean spoons and napkins.

Zayn seems pleased when Harry presents his creation, taking a spoon and a bite before Harry even sits down fully. “This reminds me of being a kid,” Zayn says. “My mom would make something simple like this but it always seemed a lot fancier than it was.”

“Like worms in dirt,” Harry says. “My mom put gummy worms in pudding with chocolate cookies on top and I always thought it was the coolest thing. Now it just sounds kind of gross.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, a little bit. Not this though,” he circles his spoon just over his bowl, “This is delicious.”

“Maybe I should become a chef on the side,” Harry says.

Zayn tilts his head, “You just put this together. Technically, you didn’t cook anything.”

“Semantics, Zayn.”

Zayn’s response is to roll his eyes. “This lighting makes me feel like we’re about to have a very serious conversation, by the way.”

Harry laughs, glancing around. With the natural lighting gone, there’s only the dim light from the strings of round bulbs and fairy lights. “Maybe we are,” he says. “Like an intimidating interview or something.”

Zayn laughs and looks down at his bowl. Harry watches as he cuts off a piece of the brownie, and then a smaller drop of ice cream to put on top. Luckily, Harry catches himself staring before Zayn does and looks down quickly.

“So Harry, tell me, what’s your biggest fear?”

Harry looks up to see Zayn smiling.

“I was going for it on the intimidating interview thing.”

Harry adjusts the scarf in his hair where it’s started to itch before he smiles. “I mean, if my biggest fear is clowns I don’t know how intimidating this is going to get.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, “Is nothing easy with you?”

“Never.”

“Tell me your literal biggest fear and then the one that’s only in your head.”

“Are you sure you’re a writer?” Harry raises one eyebrow as he takes a bite of his ice cream. “You’re sounding a bit like a psychologist right now.”

Zayn points at Harry with his spoon. “Do it.”

“Okay. Literal biggest fear is spiders, I think. Or birds pecking my eyeballs out.”

Zayn winces and leans back, “What the fuck?”

“Have you ever seen the movie ‘Birds’? That is completely valid.”

“Sure.”

“Sure,” Harry mimics. He grins. “Uh, actual biggest fear is that this is all there is. That everything I dreamed about as a kid isn’t coming true. The edge of a cliff feeling that I’ve reached the final destination and it’s not at all what I’d hoped.” Harry’s voice cracks at the end and he looks away to clear his throat. He’s not sure he’s ever said it out loud in so many words.

Zayn doesn’t speak until Harry looks at him again. “Is that your biggest fear or what you already believe?”

Harry smiles but he doesn’t feel his eyes light up, “The funny thing is that it’s been my biggest fear since high school and only now am I realizing that it’s coming true.” Harry studies the way Zayn’s eyelashes brush his cheek bones as he waits for him to say something. He sounds pathetic and he’s well aware.

“You can never be stuck anywhere,” Zayn says. His fingers press against the coiled edging of his journal. “As humans we get to decide where we go or what we do. What holds us back is the fear about what happens once we do whatever it is we’re so scared of.”

Harry shrugs, “Going in blind scares me.”

“That’s not so hard to understand,” Zayn says. “I wish I could make this a real therapy session and give you an answer but I don’t have one. Other than to say, you’re not even thirty and even if you were, there is no finish line or end point. Besides death, nothing is final.”

Harry tilts his head back and forth, “A bit therapist-y but not bad.” He grins, “Now you go.”

“Biggest literal fear is open water.” Zayn smiles, “You may have guessed that from the day at the lake when we discussed it.”

Harry frowns, “Now I feel cheated.”

“Sorry, babe.”

“Do you have any other fears?”

“As of about a minute ago, birds pecking out my eyes have flown up the list.”

They both laugh and Harry nods, “Okay, I’ll take that.”

“My other biggest fear is that it’s too late for me to go home.”

“I thought you didn’t have a home by the technical term. You travel instead?” Harry talks slowly, unsure how to proceed.

Zayn smiles but its small. “Yeah. But I’m scared that I’m not traveling for inspiration anymore but because I’m too scared to go home to Chicago to stay for good. I don’t want to be roaming around the country for the rest of my life.”

“Why are you scared?”

“When I graduated college, I already had interest from a publisher on my draft and I went straight to New York to work on it and be near an editor. Then I was missing birthdays and anniversaries and graduations because I was focused on my first book and I wasn’t making it home as much as I should have to see my parents or my sisters.”

“Aren’t they all proud of you though?”

“Massively,” Zayn grins. It dims after only a second. “It’s just that they’ve built me up to be the prodigal son almost. Like, when I don’t come to stuff anymore my mom doesn’t chastise me because she thinks I’m doing something so much bigger and important instead. I missed her birthday because I was holed up in that cabin in Minnesota.”

“Why don’t you just go?” Harry lifts a shoulder, “They seem like they’d be over the moon to see you.”

Zayn sighs, “Same as you, I’m scared of what I’ll find. They’ve built me up to be a rising star and a publisher’s dream and I feel like if I come home, I’m showing them that I’m not. I don’t know how they would react to finding out I’m still the same person with a bit more money. I’m scared it might be different than I thought.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, eyes crossing over Zayn’s face and trying to read him. “Can I be the therapist now?”

Zayn smirks, “By all means.”

“Maybe they’re scared too. Scared that you’re not the same as when you left and they won’t recognize you. Maybe you’re not,” Harry says quickly when Zayn tries to say something else. “But my guess is your heart is the same, you know? I think that’s what good families care about in the end, that’s how they know you.”

Zayn runs a hand back through his hair, half-laughing, “We’re all scared of something that everyone else can put in perspective in a sentence.”

“The fact that we can’t is the reason we’re the ones who are scared.”

“Touché.”

Harry tilts his head toward Zayn. “My advice for you is to go home. Eventually.”

Zayn smiles, “Same to you, babe. Get out of here. Eventually.”

They talk awhile longer while they finish eating their brownies and ice cream and then Zayn offers to do the dishes, taking them back into the kitchen. When he comes back out he has water on his shirt and Harry laughs.

“High powered faucet,” he mutters.

Harry stops laughing long enough to clean up the counter and finish up a few of the last minute closing chores before unplugging the lights hanging in front and heading for the back door. They put on their jackets in the doorway, Harry pulling up his hood and Zayn following suit.

“I feel like I’m getting ready to go swimming,” Zayn says, tucking his journal in his bag.

“Basically,” Harry says.

The deck outside of the back door is covered, only the small porch light illuminating the handle of the door. Zayn leans back against the building while Harry locks up–-two different keys for two different locks. Louis may be the only one who protects his property this fiercely but maybe if Harry owned Aurora he would feel the same. Harry tests the knob and kicks the bottom corner of the door to make sure it says shut.

“Was that a scientific maneuver?” Zayn gestures towards Harry’s leg.

“Completely,” Harry says, grinning.

A moment hangs between them, silent with nothing but the rain trickling through the gutters, softer where it hits the ground.

“I’m glad you stayed tonight,” Harry says for something to fill the space but also because he means it.

“Me too,” Zayn says. “Thanks for letting me and not kicking me out right away.”

“Never.” Harry only hopes the word doesn’t come out sounding more loaded than he truly means.

Zayn turns like he’s going to lead the way off of the porch but then he stops and turns to face Harry head on. From far away, they might look like they’re getting ready to rob something, their hoods pulled up and just beyond the cone of the light from the lamp over the door.

“I have a question,” Zayn says. He looks at Harry, straight in the eyes, and looks ten times more confident than Harry suddenly feels.

“Okay?” Realizing he’s just asked a question of his own, Harry clears his throat and tries again. “Okay.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

Of the questions Harry thought he would be faced with, this didn’t cross his radar. His response comes out like an aborted word but it doesn’t seem to matter because Zayn keeps talking.

“Because I like you, you know. A lot.”

Harry’s stomach catches on fire and butterflies take flight all the way up into his chest and when his brain finally lines up the letters all he manages is, “Yeah.”

“The way I see it, it’s simple.” Zayn smiles, softly. “You like me and I like you.”

There are so many things Harry wants to ask – like, how Zayn knew and why he is so much braver than Harry, or if this is an elaborate joke—but Harry’s tongue goes heavy in his mouth as he parrots back, “Simple.”

Zayn takes a step in closer to Harry, close enough Harry can see a freckle in his eye he’s never noticed. He’s never been allowed to be this close before and stare unabashedly.

“I want to kiss you,” Zayn says.

Harry’s heart drops out from his chest and shows up under his ribs.

“And because you like me too, that’s the only warning I’m giving.”

The fire in Harry’s stomach sweeps up into his lungs and his hands shake at his sides like he’s fifteen all over again. All because Zayn takes another step to close the gap between them and kisses Harry right on the mouth.

Harry’s lips malfunction and his brain short circuits before picking back up again and leaning into the kiss, kissing Zayn back finally. Zayn’s hand finds Harry’s and he links their fingers down between them, smiling against Harry’s mouth before kissing him again, a little deeper the second time. Harry’s helpless to do anything about it, sensations curving under Zayn’s soft lips, his cold hand squeezing Harry’s as if to make it stop shaking.

“Was that okay?” Zayn asks after he kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth a final time—barely a gentle press. For the directive confidence Zayn had only moments before, Harry’s heart softens when he asks anyway, double checks.

“More than okay,” Harry says, finding his voice and his vocabulary again.

Zayn nods, “Okay.” He tucks his lips into his mouth and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “I’m going to go now before I do something I regret.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and Zayn smirks.

“Nothing bad just,” he shakes his head and his eyes drop down Harry’s body and then to his face. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

Harry nods and feels Zayn letting go of his hand like an ache as he watches Zayn go back down the porch steps and into the night. Harry is still staring after him when Zayn checks back over his shoulder as if to see if he’s still there.

...

As with all good things, Harry lets his anxieties and insecurities run wild through the night when he’s supposed to be sleeping and then through the next morning while he opens the café. Where the night before there were butterflies, in the morning there are grasshoppers, heavier in his stomach and much more sporadic.

All morning, he drops everything he goes to pick up including Todd Danza’s coconut milk latte. The mug shatters on the ground and Louis stares at Harry for a silent moment before going to make a new latte and assigning Harry to the shards of glass on the floor. The bell over the door still hasn’t worked in weeks, which means Harry gets whiplash from checking to see if anyone has come in that he’s missed.

Zayn said he would see Harry the next day, which is this day and Harry wishes he would have given a time or his phone number or told Harry if he should go find him first.  Per usual, Harry can’t handle the not knowing. The anticipation of waiting for Zayn to magically appear builds up like acid in his stomach. It’s a good kind of acid, if not a nervous one. The bottom line is Harry doesn’t know what to expect when he sees Zayn again--if anything has changed between them at all. Considering he had Zayn’s tongue in his mouth twelve hours earlier, he really hopes it has.

His answer comes around lunch time when he sees Zayn walking up the front sidewalk. The only reason he sees him before he comes in the door is that he’s loading paper napkins into the dispenser conveniently in front of one of the windows. Earlier, Louis had stared at him like an alien with three heads when he moved the containers from the back counter to a front table to work. Harry pretended not to notice him.

Zayn has a hoodie on and he looks rumpled by sleep as he walks up onto the front porch, a soft smile for the older woman coming out as he holds the door for her. Harry controls his breathing as Zayn comes all the way in and closes the door behind himself.

Harry doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Louis is sweeping out of the kitchen, phone held up in the air. “Zayn, finally, dude. I have that tattoo design to show you.”

Zayn reaches for the phone but not before his eyes fall to Harry and he mouths, “Hi.” Then his gaze shifts to what Louis is pointing at and Harry goes back to his napkin dispensers, his cheeks flushing.

He finishes the napkin dispensers and puts them back on the empty tables while Louis and Zayn walk towards Zayn’s normal table. Harry tries not to hover around the edge while they talk so he runs food and fills drinks until Louis finally wanders away from Zayn. Then, for some reason, Harry feels like he needs a purpose to go over to Zayn’s table so he grabs the nearest pot of coffee before crossing the floor to him.

“Hi,” he says when he’s close enough.

Zayn looks up right away and when he sees Harry he smiles. Harry melts a little.

“I brought coffee,” Harry says, reminiscent of the first day he talked to Zayn when he all but threw a muffin on the table and ran.

Zayn smirks, “I see that.” He turns over the cup on his table, “You never bring me coffee.”

Harry shrugs and pours some in the mug. Part of him is scared if he doesn’t have an agenda or keep doing something with his hands he’s just going to sit in Zayn’s lap and kiss him again.  

“You don’t even know if I like coffee.”

Coffee spills over the edge of the mug and onto the table as Harry jerks the pot back towards himself. “Oh shit.” He takes one of the napkin dispensers apart and sops up the puddle. When he looks up Zayn is staring at him, amusement all over his face.

“I mean, I love coffee,” he says. “I’m happy you brought me some.”

Harry bites the inside of his lip and picks up the wet napkins and balls them in his hands. “Great. There’s your coffee.” His attempt not to smile fails and it happens anyway.

“Thanks, babe.”

 _Babe_. Over the past week, Harry has become a fan of the word especially now that he’s heard Zayn say it a couple of times, heard it directed at him.

“Sure.” Harry’s not sure what he’s going to say next but he’s sure there is more to be said between them and Zayn looks like he’s getting ready to say something too when there’s a sudden stampede coming through the front door.

Zayn follows Harry gaze to where the half a dozen women in yoga pants and sweatshirts are all talking loudly over each other. “Are they all...pregnant?” Zayn looks back towards Harry.

“Pregnant and hungry,” Harry says, nodding. “There’s an outdoor yoga class at the park on Tuesday mornings and they come here after. Every time.”

“Harry,” Louis calls his name as he comes out of the kitchen with four plates in his arms, “I need you.” There’s a pause where Harry considers waiting for the yoga class to seat themselves and talking to Zayn more but Louis cuts into that too. “Right now, please.”

“I’m being summoned,” Harry says to Zayn. “Will you still be here in an hour? I have a break.”

Zayn nods, biting his lip. “For you? Yes, of course.”

“Cool.” Harry grins before rushing off towards the pregnant mass. As soon as the women spot him they all turn and converge, kissing his cheeks as he asks about due dates and back pain. All things he shouldn’t know about but two years of the seasonal pregnant yoga classes has taught him a lot.

Throughout the next hour of taking orders, running food and splitting checks, Harry’s mind is a broken record.

_For you? Yes, of course._

_For you? Yes, of course._

_For you? Yes, of course._

“I’m taking my break,” Harry announces to the kitchen as soon as the rush dies down a bit.

Louis looks up from his phone, “You can’t do that. I’m taking my break. And in what world do we now announce our breaks?”

Harry shrugs, “Okay. In five minutes, I’m taking my break. No one can bother me when I do the break thing. It’s in that fancy employment book you read.”

Louis narrows his eyes, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing,” Harry sings, going back out to the main room of the cafe to do last minute refills and clear a couple of tables. “Four more minutes, Lou,” he calls over his shoulder.

Four minutes later Harry goes to where Zayn is hunched over his notebook with Louis’ suspicious eyes on his back. “Hey,” he says, pulling the chair out across from Zayn and sitting down.

Zayn closes his notebook and links his finger together on the table. “Tired?”

“Very,” Harry says. “I opened this morning which is too early. It was still dark when I got out of bed.” He doesn’t add that he stayed up later than usual thinking about Zayn’s mouth and his smile and what it all means.

“I woke up to birds chirping and the sun shining this morning.”

Harry sighs, “Oh, isn’t life grand for Cinderella.”

“Hey.” Zayn squints at him, “I’ve always been more of a Jasmine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, smiling over his words. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Louis back behind the counter, staring right at them. He shifts in his seat. “How’s writing going?”

“Good,” Zayn says. “I’m feeling very inspired lately.”

Harry’s eyes bounce back and forth to Louis and Zayn before landing on Zayn’s gaze. “Really?”

“Yep.” Zayn pops the ‘p’ and smiles.

Harry’s smile comes out wrong, one eye on Liam coming out of the kitchen, early for his shift, and standing next to Louis. Harry’s hands are mindless, folding and unfolding a napkin, his leg bouncing under the table. He’s been waiting since last night to be alone and have time with Zayn but now that it’s here he feels like an actor in a play who has forgotten his lines.

“Hey.”

He jumps at Zayn’s voice and looks back at him. Realizing he’s shredding the napkin, he drops it and grips the edges of the table. “Sorry,” he says guiltily.

Zayn’s voice is quiet, “It’s okay.” Harry’s heart jolts as Zayn takes one of his hands from the edge of the table and smooths over Harry’s palm with his fingers.

Harry stares at where they’re touching, a horse race of butterflies and grasshoppers taking off in his stomach. “You make me nervous,” he admits. Zayn makes him feel like he should be honest even when it’s with blunt force.

“Don’t be,” Zayn says. He turns Harry’s hand over and traces each line of his fingers with one of his. “I don’t want you to be.”

Harry smiles, “Easier said than done.”

Zayn flips Harry’s hand once more and taps his fingertips against Harry’s. “Take me on a date.”

“What?” Harry swallows, finally looking away from Zayn’s hand on his.

“Take me on a proper date,” Zayn says. “I wanted to take you but I don’t know what we would do other than go to the lake or Aurora or Louis’ house or Niall’s bed and breakfast.”

“Or Main Street?” Harry grins.

“Or Main Street,” Zayn says smiling,

“So you’re asking me to take you on a date?”

“I am.”

Harry bites the inside of his lip trying to think of what he wants to do. Then, he smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Zayn nods and taps Harry’s fingertips again.

They manage to talk for a while longer, Zayn absently tracing Harry’s fingers and somehow wrangling the wildlife in Harry’s stomach so he can focus on actually forming full sentences without looking over to see if his friends are still watching.

“How long is your break?” Zayn tilts his head, “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m my own boss.” Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I should probably go see if he needs help.”

Harry stands up and pushes his chair back in. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Zayn shakes his head, “Nope. I really need to write more anyway.”

They smile at each other, Harry playing with the bottom corner of his plaid shirt and Zayn tapping his pen on the table. Without thinking about it too much, and before he can chicken out, Harry hinges forward to kiss the corner of Zayn’s lips. Quickly, so quick, it could be missed in a blink but he gets to see Zayn’s nose scrunch and his eyes turn into shining crescent moons. Harry is far too self-satisfied as he walks away, more so when he sees Louis and Liam staring at him with their mouths dropped open.

...

It takes Harry a couple more days to figure out where to take Zayn on their date. Zayn, of course, asks him each day at the cafe if he’s made a decision and Harry continually shakes his head, smiling. Zayn always sighs melodramatically as if this, of all things, is an inconvenience. Summerville may be small but Harry knows there are plenty of places they can go especially when rain isn’t in the forecast—it’s only a matter of choosing. He checks his weather app on a Thursday morning and makes his decision all at the same time.

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” Harry tells Zayn at Aurora. Zayn is just coming in and Harry is just getting off of his shift.

“Pick me up? I can meet you somewhere.”

Harry smirks, “Proper date, remember?”

“Wine and dine, the whole nine yards?” Zayn raises his eyebrow and tucks a stray piece of hair back into Harry’s scarf.

Harry nods even though there’s a firework show happening in his chest. Now that he’s kissed Zayn each day for nearly a week, always in public and careful of watching eyes, he wants a bit more. He doesn’t know what that entails yet, what Zayn is comfortable with, what he should and shouldn’t jump head first into, but he also gets a warm fizzing sensation in his stomach when Zayn touches him even something as simple as tucking a piece of hair away. Zayn doesn’t show it but Harry can see the heat in his eyes when he looks at Harry sometimes. He likes to think they’re on the same page.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Zayn says. Then, as is becoming typical, he leans in and kisses Harry, one hand on his jaw, his thumb drawing as soft a line there as his lips.

The fireworks take off with extra power until Harry finally steps away and puts his hands behind his back. “Later, then,” he repeats. He nods once more and then turns and walks away. When he looks back over his shoulder, Zayn is still watching him go. They both smile and Harry ducks his head as he keeps walking.

…

Harry gets to Horan’s Inn right at eight wearing his best black jeans without any rips, a pair of new brown boots and a dark blue button down shirt. He went without a bun or a scarf in favor of letting his hair down though that means he keeps running his hands back through it. There’s a hair tie on his wrist just in case. He parks on the curb in front and shuts off the engine of his jeep. He’s had the same car since college and though it protests if he drives more than a few miles, it’s a necessity for his plans for the night.

He doesn’t go in the back door of Niall’s like he usually does; he walks up the front steps instead. Zayn is just coming down the stairs in an army green jacket and black jeans with his hair artfully messy and he smiles when he sees Harry. There’s something to be said about the fact Harry doesn’t realize Niall is standing behind the front desk until he clears his throat.

“Hi, Niall,” Harry says trying, and failing, to make it seem like he’s not surprised to see him there. He does own the place after all.

“So this is really happening?” Niall asks, raising his eyebrows.

“We’re just hanging out,” Zayn says, winking at Harry. There go the fireworks again.

“Yeah, right.” Niall rolls his eyes, “According to Louis, there was some spit being exchanged in front of him this week.”

Zayn’s nostrils flare and Harry gags. “That’s a terrible way to describe anything, really.”

“Well on that note,” Harry claps his hands together, “You, have a good night. And you,” he nods at Zayn, “Come with me.”

Zayn laughs and waves at Niall before following Harry back outside. They walk down the path with their fingers brushing and arms sliding against each other.

“Where are we going?” Zayn asks in the car, pulling on his seatbelt.

“Surprise,” Harry says as an explanation.

Zayn laughs, “Alright, well, you know I’ll find out eventually, right?”

Harry gasps, “Really? News to me.”

Zayn flips him off but then leans across the seat and kisses the smile from Harry’s lips until Harry finally puts the car into gear.

The drive is only twenty minutes with nothing but wide open roads and their windows rolled down. Harry’s not sure there is ever traffic in Summerville or at least none that he’s been a part of and he’s lived here the better part of his entire life. Zayn tries to guess where they’re going, each guess more ridiculous than the last and they’re both laughing when Harry finally runs into civilization and the rest of the cars heading in the same direction as them.

“What is it?” Zayn lifts his chin higher to try to see around the other cars as Harry follows in a line of those same cars toward an open field. “Is this a giant parking lot?”

Harry looks over at him and blinks before slowing the car to a crawl and pulling in next to another car. “Yes, Zayn. I’ve brought you to a massive parking lot where we will entertain ourselves with a rousing game of Park That Car.”

“I’d get out and leave you here but I think we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Harry laughs, “That we are.”

He opens the door and climbs out of the driver’s seat. After a moment, Zayn follows him. Harry busies himself opening the back hatch of the jeep while Zayn stands at the front of the car looking around. He’s clearly confused and Harry is hopelessly endeared. He checks the set up one more time before going around the edge of the car to Zayn.

“Zayn, come here.”

He walks over, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Harry points up and over his shoulder. He watches Zayn look up and then the realization filter through his face as he sees the point of the crowded parking lot. He had been looking towards the front of the parking lot, where the nose of each car points but the entire purpose is for the cars to face the opposite direction of where a giant movie screen looms over the cars.

“A drive in movie?”

Harry grins, “Knew you’d get the eventually.” He gestures towards the open back of his jeep, “This is where we sit.” He watches carefully as Zayn takes in the trunk of the jeep, a plaid blanket laid out over the open space, two more rolled on the sides, two pillows against the back seat and a square box with a bottle of wine and a platter of crackers and different cheeses Harry had picked up at the grocery store sitting in the middle.

“You did all this?”

The way Zayn looks at Harry right then almost makes him feel shy, like maybe he’s gone too far for their first date. Everything leading up to this has felt like a long introduction to where they are now, like it was ever only going to end up with them on a date and Harry wants it to be more than their usual haunts of Aurora and Niall’s.

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” Harry says quickly. “I used to come as a kid and I thought it would be fun.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, interrupting Harry. He grabs his hand and pulls Harry the one more step towards him so their chests press together. “This is better than anything I could have imagined.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiles and kisses Zayn, his eyes falling shut as he deepens the kiss, no curious eyes on them in this open field, everyone minding their own business for once.

“Sweet like a Georgia peach,” Zayn murmurs between kisses and Harry accidently laughs against his mouth. It doesn’t deter them.

Zayn pulls away first and kisses Harry’s cheek once. “What movie is playing?”

“Ghostbusters. The original,” Harry adds. “We don’t really get first run movies here.”

“That’s one of my all-time favorite movies, so,” Zayn shrugs, “No complaints from me.”

They climb in the back of the Jeep sitting side by side and touching from their hips to their ankles. Harry unfolds a rolled-up blanket over their legs and Zayn pours red wine into the plastic cups Harry had remembered only at the last second.

They talk until it gets dark and the movie starts and then they fall quiet, shifting around a bit until they can see the screen without craning their necks. Harry has a hard time paying attention to the movie with Zayn so close to him. It feels like there is static electricity between them, a cosmic force touching both of them and curling in a warm grip. Harry feels like if he touches Zayn it might actually hurt him. About halfway through the movie, he decides it might just be worth it and he takes Zayn’s hand in his. Zayn doesn’t even look over as Harry twists their fingers together and holds Zayn’s hand in his lap, fingers playing in an endless rhythm against his skin.

It feels like a lot of things Harry has been waiting for as they sit there together, exchanging gentle touches and soft kisses every once in a while. There’s still a spark of butterflies at holding hands but also a genuine comfort in being around each other. It all seems so easy Harry has a hard time believing it’s real. Nothing gold can stay and nothing good is easy. Facts of life, facts Harry knows well. Still, it’s much easier to let his happier thoughts circle his mind rather than dwell on the negative facts. Easier, when it’s Zayn who pulls him from his thoughts, lifting their linked fingers and kissing the back of Harry’s hand. Harry swears there’s a spark there too; it starts on top his skin and then dives under, twisting and turning all the way into his very bloodstream. For a first date, it’s not bad at all.

Once the movie ends, there’s a long line of cars to get out of the field so Harry and Zayn occupy themselves with star gazing from the comfort of the back of Harry’s jeep, talking about how neither one of them can identify even one star formation accurately and making up their own names instead. They never let go of each other’s hands.

Harry drives slow on the way back to town, slower than the speed limit recommends but he doesn’t want their night to end. It’s felt like a slice of the moon, a handful of stardust. Like he can only hope blindly it will all still exist in the morning that it wasn’t a dream at all.

“We’re back,” Zayn says as Harry slows the car to a creep and then a dead stop along the curb at Niall’s.

“That we are,” Harry says, watching Zayn stare at the window. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “And asking me to take you on a date.”

Zayn laughs and looks at him. His eyes go softer as soon as they meet Harry’s. “Thanks for accepting my demand.”

“Not a demand. A nudge in the right direction.” He taps his palms on the steering wheel, “I think I would have kept waiting to ask you out if you didn’t do something about it first.”

“What would you be waiting for?”

“A flashing sign to tell me you would say yes if I asked.  I tend to think a lot of stuff is only happening in my head.”

“Really?” Zayn scrunches his nose at him. “I’ve had a crush on you since I saw you creeping between Niall’s file cabinets the first day I got here.”

Harry blinks quickly as he tries to process what Zayn has just said and then it clicks. “Oh my god,” Harry puts his hands over his face, “This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.” He can actually feel the heat in his cheeks beneath his fingers. “You weren’t supposed to see me.”

“You were literally staring at me in an open gap in the cabinets. How was I not going to see you?”

Harry moans without moving his hands, “I don’t know.”

Somehow he knows Zayn is reaching for him before he feels his hand gently tugging Harry’s wrists down from his face. “Saw your lips first,” Zayn says quietly, “Then your eyes. Pretty green eyes, pretty pink lips.”

“I’m blushing you have to stop,” Harry says, almost kidding.

Zayn smiles and bites his lip. “I like when you blush though. It’s cute. And it gives me a very good read on how you’re feeling. I wasn’t going in blind when I kissed you last week at Aurora. I had seen you staring at me and noticed the way your cheeks go pink when I talked to you.”

“Yikes, this is all very embarrassing,” Harry says, still laughing.

Zayn grins, “Come here.”

“Where?”

Zayn curls his finger and Harry leans into him a little further. The center console digs into his stomach but he doesn’t mind so much. “Closer,” Zayn whispers and Harry follows his lead, smiling.

Zayn puts one hand on the side of Harry’s neck when he kisses him, opening his mouth with his quick tongue and soft lips. Harry loses himself kissing back, his hands braced on the center console. Zayn gasps into his mouth and fire licks the bottom of Harry’s belly.

“Wait,” he says pulling back.

Zayn looks bereft, his lips red in the light from the street lamps. Harry stares only for a moment before leaning back in his seat. In a maneuver mastered from too much making out in high school, he pulls the side lever beside the driver’s seat so it slides back and he leans it back just slightly with the knob next to it to make more room by his legs. When he looks at Zayn again, his eyelids are heavier, pure lust curling in his chest. Zayn is a wet dream in real life, looking at Harry with the exact same look in his eyes.

“That was well practiced,” Zayn notes, gesturing at Harry as if to encompass the whole process he just went through.

“I was seventeen and not allowed to have girls in the house after dark,” Harry says, shrugging. He pats his thighs and repeats Zayn’s words from before, “Come here.”

Zayn grins and climbs over the center console so he’s straddling Harry. It’s an awkward fit, neither of them are seventeen anymore, and there’s some breathless jabs of elbows against ribs before they finally fit, both of them catching their breath and smiling.

Zayn kisses Harry first, dipping his head down, his hands sliding into Harry’s hair. He curls his fingers and tugs which only serves to shoot desire up from Harry’s toes and straight to where his pants are quickly becoming uncomfortable. His hands fall to Zayn’s hips, under his green jacket and resting over his shirt. He lets his mouth slide from Zayn’s to his jaw and then his neck, licking and biting the softness under his ear as Zayn presses his hips closer to Harry’s, pressing down again and again until Harry has to pause and catch his breath right there against Zayn’s neck. He hasn’t done something like this, something as simple as grinding in the front seat of his car in years. For some reason it feels more intense than anything else, the car silent except their panting as they rut their hips against each other.

Harry bites down on a moan as his toes curl in his boots. Everything is too much and they have too many clothes and not enough room, his head falls back against the seat as he gasps. Zayn stares down at him, his palms flat on Harry’s chest as he circles his hips again. His pupils are blown and Harry’s might be too, he knows his heart is racing on a track and he’s sure Zayn can feel it under his hand.

There’s a flash and they pause looking at each other. It happens again and they both look out the far window at the same time as another flash.

“Oh my god,” Zayn says right as the see what’s happening. He folds against Harry and presses his face to Harry’s neck as Harry starts laughing, one hand on Zayn’s back.

Niall is standing in the doorway of the bed and breakfast, flipping the porch lights off and on and staring right at them. Zayn starts laughing then too, both of them almost giggling about it. Harry flips Niall off and Niall raises his eyebrows and holds up his hand before turning and disappearing back into the house.

“I think he just gave us a five minute warning,” Harry says.

Zayn sits back up in his lap and braces his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Do you have a curfew, Cinderella?”

“No but I think you might,” Harry says, nudging his head towards where Niall was. “You’re the one bunking with Ni.”

“That’s true,” Zayn says. He presses his lips to Harry’s forehead and pauses there.

Harry wants to ask him to come back to his place for the night, to drive away right now and not look back but he doesn’t want to break everything like that, so easily. He stays quiet.

“I should go,” Zayn says finally, looking at Harry again. “Before Niall comes back. Who knows what he’ll resort to next.”

Harry grins, “I can’t even say that I know what it will be.”

Zayn drags his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip and then he kisses him again, so softly Harry wants to melt back into it but he stays strong, squeezing Zayn’s hips once.

“See you tomorrow?”

Zayn kisses his cheek, “Tomorrow.”

Harry unlocks the car door and lets Zayn slide out over him and onto the concrete. He holds onto the top of the jeep and leans in to kiss Harry once more. Harry chases his lips when he pulls away, already feeling the addiction building.

“Tomorrow,” Zayn repeats. He taps the top of the truck. “Good night, babe.”

“Night,” Harry says after him, smiling even as Zayn shuts his door for him. Zayn walks in front of the car and waves while Harry rearranges his seat into an upright position and waves back.

Harry watches Zayn walk across the lawn to the front door right as Niall comes back out. Zayn puts his hands up like a wanted man surrendering and then Niall is laughing with his head thrown back. This time, when Zayn looks back at Harry he’s laughing too. Even at the distance, in the glow of the porch light, Harry sees Zayn wink at him. In the doorway, Zayn ruffles Niall’s hair as he passes him and pretends to knee him in the crotch. Harry laughs alone in the car.

His chest feels full, settled. He’s not stupid and he knows Zayn isn’t going to be here forever. He’s not even renting a place here; he’s paying night by night at Harry’s best friend’s bed and breakfast. Even with it all, despite it all, Harry knows this time, whatever it ends up being, will be worth the fall. There will be an end, he knows, but he doesn’t think about that right then. Right then, all he thinks is that Zayn is worth it. Everything that happens before and anything that will inevitably happen after will be worth it for the way he feels right now.

...

The next week passes in a blur. Harry has a daily shift at Aurora and month-end financials to calculate and then there’s avoiding Melvin in the mornings and chores around his house, a new magnet from Gemma (Albany, New York) and a new book to start (The Nest). But now, tucked between all the normal things, there’s also Zayn. Zayn, who shows up during Harry’s shifts each day and writes in the corner quietly only interrupted when Harry sits with him during breaks or they eat lunch together. Zayn stays late with Harry when he closes one night and they eat apple pie straight out of the pan. Their kisses are sweet like their dessert when Zayn sits on top of the counter and Harry stands between his knees.

Things get intense again the next day at Aurora when Zayn follows Harry outside on his break and presses him back against the wall to kiss him, pressing Harry’s wrists up over his head. Louis catches them, right as Zayn is really making progress on a mark against Harry’s neck and Harry is trying to remember how to breathe.

“What is this, then?” Louis asks once Zayn mumbles an excuse about needing to go and disappearing back into the cafe.

“Hanging out,” Harry says, shrugging and trying to catch his breath. Zayn is hot and chooses to make out with him regularly – it’s a lot for his heart and his sex drive to handle.

Louis looks at him the same way he has since they were seven and nine, eyes seeming to look beneath his skin. “Okay.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t need anyone’s permission, you know. I am an adult the last time I checked.”

Louis smirks, “Yeah but old habits die hard. I don’t want you to regret this.”

“Lou,” Harry says, “Believe me when I say that I’ve thought this through. Tirelessly. I’m well aware that there’s no way this ends well.”

“Harry.” Louis frowns at him.

“I’m being realistic. There’s no happy ending but there’s happiness now.”

“You’re being a bit cynical don’t you think?”

Harry laughs, “I like him, he likes me and this can’t last forever. It’s simple.” Just like the first night on the same porch with Zayn, it’s simple and Harry is hard pressed to remember a time when something needed to be complicated to be valid.

Louis shrugs, “It’s your heart, do what you want.”

Harry smiles, close-lipped. “Yes, it is.” He hasn’t ever found someone worth the fall but he thinks Zayn is –even if each day that Harry falls for him more and more feels like a march towards the ending, one that will surely pinch the nerves of his heart permanently.

…

One night the following week when Harry is responsible for dropping desserts at Niall’s, he asks Zayn to see his room. They put the desserts in the kitchen but Niall is nowhere to be found so they quietly sneak to the front staircase. It’s not as though they don’t enjoy spending evenings with Niall but it seems like there’s always something or someone interrupting them and Harry would to take advantage of one empty night, at least.

“I never know what to picture when I imagine you like, sleeping or something,” Harry says, like he needs to justify a reason to see Zayn’s room.

Zayn looks over his shoulder at Harry as they walk up the stairs to the second floor, one eyebrow raised. “You think about me sleeping or something a lot?”

Harry grins, “That’s for me to know.”

The truth is yes, often, and a lot. Everything they do feels like intense heat building without a release, every stolen kiss and interrupted make out. There just hasn’t been time or the right time to do something more. Harry likes the anticipation as much as he hates it. He’s sure it’ll be sweet in the end, or at least hopes. He’s not in a hurry, it’s been more than a year since he’s got off with more than his own hand--being interested in men in a very straight town is not ideal for his sex drive.

Zayn unlocks his door and unveils the room with a “Ta da,” as he ushers Harry in. “Probably a little anti-climactic, I’m sure you’ve seen it before.”

The answer is yes, Harry has seen each room in Horan’s Inn twice at least but he hasn’t seen it like this--with Zayn’s stuff everywhere. He tells Zayn as much as he takes it all in.

The walls are dreamy yellow and the bed is covered in white, there’s a dried flower wreath hanging over the bed--the product of Niall’s mother’s most recent art project. What Harry’s really interested in, though, is the suitcase pushed under the bed and a drawer hanging open on the dresser that is over packed with clothes, three pairs of shoes lined up near the closet. There’s a bottle of cologne on the top of the dresser and a couple of rings, like the big silver skull Harry has seen Zayn wear already. On the desk there’s a closed laptop and at least five red notebooks identical to the one that he usually sees Zayn write in.

“You have more than one?” Harry asks, pointing.

Zayn laughs and his brows furrow. “Yeah, you didn’t think I was only using one, right?”

“They’re all red,” Harry says, tapping the top one with his fingers. “How was I supposed to know?”

Zayn shrugs, “I have more in the top drawer.”

Harry pulls it open and gasps at the stack inside, “I think you’re obsessed.”

Zayn smirks, “I use a different color for each book. It’s like a weird habit.”

“Why red this time?”

“No reason, really. Just caught my eye at the store I guess.”

Harry closes the drawer, “Not as exciting as I would have hoped.”

“Sorry.” Zayn closes the gap between them and slides his hands around Harry’s waist, “Forgive me?”

Harry smiles right as Zayn kisses him, can’t even give an answer if he tried. It becomes too intense too quickly, and Zayn’s hands are under Harry’s shirt, roaming the curve of his hips and up his back while Harry holds onto Zayn’s arms, refusing to let go. They fall back against the bed, Harry’s feet still on the ground with Zayn on top of him, kissing his neck and down his shirt.

“Want you so much,” he says against Harry’s chest.

Harry makes a sound that could be a word in a different language but he can’t figure out what word or what language.

“Want to see your tattoos, kiss every one of them,” Zayn says, kissing back up Harry’s neck to his jaw.

Harry’s hands go into Zayn’s hair, tugging slightly, “Yeah,” he says, breathless already, “That.”

Zayn smiles at Harry’s inarticulate words. Harry’s eyes close when Zayn kisses his lips, “I have so many things I want to do to you.”

Harry makes another broken sound that comes out differently in his head, more like, “I have things I want to do to you too.”

“Things that will make you blush,” Zayn murmurs right against his ear. It sends chills up and down his body as his hips buck up against Zayn’s seeking friction. As is probably Zayn’s intention, it makes Harry blush right then too, his cheeks going warm.

Zayn holds himself up over Harry and looks at his face, eyes heavy. “You’re so pretty when you blush for me.”

“Then, why wait?” Harry reaches for the hem of Zayn’s shirt, done with the building heat and teasing words, nothing but want, want, want, coursing through his veins.

A knock at the door pulls them out of their heady cloud, Zayn standing up off of Harry right as the door opens and Niall comes in without another warning. Zayn turns toward his desk and Harry sees him adjust his jeans; Harry grabs a pillow and sets it over his crotch, maybe a second too late considering Niall’s strange gaze.

“I thought I saw you guys come up here,” he says, clearly unbothered if he does notice. He gets on the bed next to Harry and Harry shifts awkwardly never having had a boner so near his best friend.

“What’s up, Niall?” Zayn asks without turning around. Harry kind of can’t believe this--how much of a cock block his friends have quickly become.

“I’m bored,” he says, lying back on the bed. “No one is checking in today and everyone else is boring.”

“We’re pretty boring too,” Harry says, inching slowly toward the opposite edge of the bed.

“Not to me.” Niall’s voice and smile is too genuine; Harry knows he can’t possibly ask him to leave. “Harry, we’re still on for boy’s night at your place tomorrow?”

Harry forgot it was his turn to host so it takes him a second to nod. That, and all of his blood is a different place in his body than his brain.

“Nice,” Niall says. Zayn turns around to face them, ankles casually crossed but his cheeks still red and hair messed up. “Zayn, you in?”

“Dunno,” Zayn says. “Am I invited this time too?”

He looks at Harry, his bottom lip twitching. “Yes, of course,” Harry says without pause. Then, quieter, mostly just for Zayn, he repeats, “Of course.”

“Sick,” Niall says, stretching his arms over his head. “Zayn, your bed is great. Maybe I’ll take a nap. Then, let’s all go get a beer somewhere, okay. Keep me entertained.”

He closes his eyes and Zayn pulls a face at Harry which Harry returns by sticking his tongue out. It doesn’t seem as though they’ll be alone for the night after all.

…

Harry spends most of the next afternoon cleaning up the inside of his house and sweeping off his front porch, baking artichoke dip and cutting vegetables to arrange on a tray with dip. He likes to be the one to host the boy’s nights and he thinks that in another world, he would host fancier dinner parties, different groups of friends every weekend.

The sound of his front door opening surprises him as he’s getting the artichoke dip from the oven and he touches his thumb to the pan on accident. He sucks on the burn as Niall and Zayn come in and let the screen door slap shut behind them.

“We’re first this time,” Niall says, grinning. “Nice.” They both have cases of beer that they set on the counter in the kitchen. “I told Zayn your specialty at hosting is artichoke dip and drinking games.”

Harry laughs, “That’s me, yeah.”

Liam’s truck roars up the quiet street and Niall goes back out front to meet him and Louis. They always bring a table to set up on Harry’s porch for beer pong and flip cup and always need help setting it up.

“You okay?” Zayn asks as he crosses the kitchen to Harry, eyes on where the side of Harry’s thumb is still set against his mouth.

“Just a little burn,” Harry says, dropping his hand. “Hurts less when I look at you.”

He grins and Zayn rolls his eyes, “What an embarrassing thing to say out loud.”

Harry sticks his tongue out and then swoops to kiss Zayn, twice again after that for luck or something.

“So this is your place?” Zayn says, taking a step back and looking around. He has one hand on Harry’s chest, tapping his fingers as he glances around. If he notices the mass of magnets on the refrigerator he doesn’t comment. “I like it. Is Melvin here?” One of Zayn’s favorite conversation topics has been Melvin ever since Harry showed up to Aurora with claw marks up and down both of his arms after a particularly violent morning.

“I locked him in my bedroom, I didn’t want him to attack or anything,” Harry says.

“Fine,” Zayn sighs. “Maybe I’ll meet him later, eh?” He winks and then laughs and Harry bites his own lip.

“I hope your clothes are on,” Louis shouts as he comes through the front door. He pauses in the doorway of the kitchen once he sees both of them. “Oh.”

Harry doesn’t give him the chance to go on just scoots around Zayn and takes some of Louis’ grocery bags from him and empties them on the counter.

“I’m going to put these in the cooler,” Louis says, exchanging his last bag for one of the cases of beer. “Liam brought ice already.”

“We’ll handle this,” Harry says, gesturing at the bags of groceries. Louis leaves and Harry opens the packages while directing Zayn where to find plates and bowls and plastic forks as they arrange food along the center island in the kitchen. By the time they go back outside, Louis, Liam, and Niall already have beers open, all sitting on the porch railing and talking.

“Started without us?” Zayn raises his eyebrows at all of them, laughing after only a moment and getting two more beers from the cooler.

Harry thanks him before popping the cap of his on the edge of the deck. Zayn studies his technique and then copies him, says he feels truly southern for doing it so easily. All four of the other boys roll their eyes.

“Shall we play?” Louis gestures at the table arranged with red solo cups.

“We shall,” Liam says. He sets his beer on the edge of the table and opens a fresh pack of ping pong balls. They never remember to save the ones they use from the times before. It’s been that way since high school.

Louis and Harry are on the same team for the first round, as is tradition, playing against Liam and Zayn while Niall pretends to referee. Louis and Harry lose so Harry switches with Niall in order to check on his plate of nachos in the oven. There are a few more games of beer pong and a snack break before a slow transition into flip cup with Zayn playing at the beginning of one team and as the anchor on the other team.

“I was never in a fraternity but this feels like initiation,” he says after the third round of running around the ends of the table to be on both teams as once.

Harry is pleasantly buzzed as they try to empty the cups and sop the beer off the table before it gets too sticky. The air is crisp and cold around them, nighttime falling quickly and sweeping them in darkness. They stay outside for a while longer with the porch light on before the mosquitoes get to be too much and they drift back into Harry’s house.

“Are you getting your Fireball out, Harry?” Louis asks, “October starts in a couple of days.”

Harry grins, “I guess, I should, huh? Does anyone have cider, though?”

“Zayn and I got it,” Niall says over a mouthful of artichoke dip, strands of cheese clinging to his lips.

“Lifesavers,” Harry says. He spins around and reaches for the top cupboard above his refrigerator where he keeps blackberry vodka and his cinnamon whiskey. Zayn walks by and slides his hand along Harry’s waist, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before going to stand next to Liam at the end of the center island. The permanent butterflies in Harry’s stomach shake out their wings.

When he turns around, Louis has five bottles of cider lined up on the counter with five mugs because he already knows that’s how Harry prefers his favorite fall drink.

“So, Zayn,” Liam says, “You may not have had this before. Harry swears fall doesn’t start until he drinks this.”

“Refuses to drink it any other time of the year, mind you,” Niall chimes in.

“Okay,” Harry says, laughing. “You’re making me sound a little crazy.” He catches Zayn’s eye and winks at him. Carefully, he pours whiskey in each mug and then Louis pours in the cold cider and hands them around to everyone.

“Who do you keep texting?” Louis says when he slides one towards Niall, navigating between the multiple bowls of chips.

“Huh?” Niall flips his phone over and looks up.

“We all saw you, Niall,” Harry says, laughing.

“Isn’t a man allowed to text his girlfriend?” Niall’s cheeks turn red in the middle of the final word.

“Niall!” Louis yells and Harry gapes.

“Really? Kaya?” Liam asks.

“How long?” Zayn adds on to the barrage of questions.

“Official for only a couple of days,” Niall says, shrugging. “I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Just come out with it, dude. That’s important information,” Louis says putting his arms out to the side.

“Congratulations, bro,” Liam says, grinning.

Niall clearly doesn’t want to talk it out further because he lifts his mug for a toast instead, “Here’s to fall,” he says. “The best months of the year according to one, Harry Edward Styles.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Here’s to friendships and new kinds of ships,” he says, hijacking the toast for himself.

Niall frowns at him and then grins, “Okay. I’ll take it.”

They all lift their mugs slightly before taking sips of their drink.

Liam winces first, “It burns. It always burns.”

“It’s like a cinnamon apple though,” Zayn says. “I like it.” He smiles and it’s aimed at Harry. The butterflies do a little dance.

The night stretches on with conversation, reminiscing on older memories and catching up on day to day lives and families, an intense conversation over whether sweet iced tea is better than hot tea though no one remembers how it gets brought up, only that Louis is the most heated in the discourse. They finish the bottle of whiskey between them easily and the food is demolished as well, dishes scraped clean as midnight taps closer. They used to stay up all night when they got together but the older they’ve gotten, as if twenty-five and twenty-seven is old, the earlier their nights get.

Harry knows he’s getting drunk and tired as his eyes keep falling across the group to Zayn, to the way his lips move when he speaks and how he moves his hands to illustrate his words. It’s all the better when he catches himself staring because of Zayn looking right back at him.

Louis leaves first; he’s going on an early morning hike with Danielle. By default Liam heads out too since he’s the one with the car. They pack up the table on the front porch after Liam convinces them all that he’s fine to drive and he’s only had three beers and a cider with a shot of whiskey over the course of six hours. Put like that, Harry feels as though he shouldn’t feel quite as fizzy as he does.

“I should go too,” Niall says once the dishes are piled in the sink and leftovers are put away. “Zayn, you coming?”

Harry keeps his eyes on the roll of plastic wrap in front of him so he can’t be said to have any influence on Zayn’s decision. In his mind, tipsy as he may be, it seems like the diplomatic choice.

“I think I’ll stay for a while longer,” Zayn says. “Help with tidying up.”

Harry looks up and Zayn is looking at him, asking a question with his eyes. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” Harry is conscious of looking equally between Niall and Zayn as if he’s not allowed to show preference.

Niall’s voice is slow as says, “Okay.” It’s not intoxication slow but like he’s trying to even the score and figure out what he’s missed between them. “See you later, then?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, followed by the same echo from Harry. They smile at each other.

“Okay,” Niall repeats before leaning in to hug both of them and heading back towards the front door.

The screen door slams shut after him and then it’s quiet, just Harry and Zayn standing in the kitchen looking at each other. Harry’s smile only gets bigger.

“Are you going to tell me about the collection on your refrigerator?” Zayn says, breaking the silence. He turns toward the magnetic mess and Harry follows.

“How long have you wanted to ask?” Harry asks, laughing.

“The moment I walked in, of course,” Zayn says. “You know I’m curious.”

“That I do.” Harry runs his hand back through his hair. “Basically, these are all magnets of places my older sister has gone. She’s committed her life to one of spontaneous weekend travel and she sends me the tackiest magnet she can find in each place she goes. I started putting them up as a joke and now it’s an art piece.”

Zayn nods, “So you just really like magnets, then?” He smiles so Harry knows he’s not being combative but like he knows that there’s always another truth underneath the truth.

Harry sighs and his lips twitch. “When we were kids Gemma and I used to dream about getting out of here. Small town syndrome and all. We wanted to see everything we saw on television and read about in books.”

Zayn shifts on his feet next to Harry, twisting to face him instead of the refrigerator. Harry stays staring forward. This is, of course, not his proudest story and one of the harder ones to tell.

“She went to college and basically never came back because she’s too busy seeing everything we wanted to see as kids. Of course, I went to college and came right back here after. I’m the one who never lived up to what we said we would do, how we promised we would leave. She sends me the magnets as a reminder, I think. That someday I need to leave here.”

“I see,” Zayn says after a quiet moment. “So, where do you want to go first?”

Harry is surprised by the question. He can’t be sure what he expected Zayn to say but this is not it. “It changes day to day,” he says, quieter than before. “When I look at it right now, I think Denver looks nice.”

Zayn hums, “I’ve been. The air can be a little thin but it’s beautiful. I’d like to go here, personally.” He touches one of the Hawaii magnets. “Sunshine sounds good right about now.”

Harry scoffs, “It’s fall Zayn. You can’t hate fall.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like fall, babe. It’s just cold, I could use a beach.”

Harry touches a Palm Beach magnet, “A beach would be nice. But it would be nice to be in the snowy mountains too, like a warm cabin with a wood stove and a fire.” He drops his hand to the winter image on the Baltimore magnet.

“I see you don’t have Chicago yet,” Zayn says. “Your sister doesn’t deem it worthy enough?”

Harry twists towards Zayn, eyebrows raised. “Guess you’ll have to get me one the next time you go home, then?”

Zayn glances at him, eyes cautious.

“When you go. Eventually.” Harry repeats the words from the night in the café when they talked about their biggest fears.

Zayn’s smile is small. “Okay. Eventually. And you’ll go all these places,” his hand sweeps to encompass the refrigerator, “Eventually.”

Harry matches his smile. “Eventually.” They could both be lying for all Harry knows, the future isn’t a guarantee, but standing right there it feels honest.

Zayn nods and then he’s reaching for Harry and pulling his body closer, kissing his lips and holding his head still with his hands on Harry’s neck. The night stretches on before them and Harry’s blood ignites as he kisses Zayn back, presses their tongues together to taste the cinnamon apples there in his mouth.

“You gonna show me your bedroom now?” Zayn asks against Harry’s lips.

Harry is helpless to do much more than nod, kissing Zayn once more before pulling away. He shuts the front door and locks it; Zayn turns out the kitchen light. They catch each other’s eye from across the small hallway and then Zayn is right there again, pressing Harry back by his closed bedroom door, his hands under his shirt as he bites at his neck. Harry hooks his fingers in the band of Zayn’s jeans, tugs down slightly just for the way Zayn gasps against his mouth and curls his hips forward.

Harry reaches out for the doorknob just next to them and pushes his door open without looking – he can’t look, not with Zayn tugging on his earlobe with his teeth. Butterflies and fireworks are converging in this moment and he’s not sure he can continue on with something as mundane as looking before he opens doors.

Melvin’s scathing hiss is enough to pull him back to his senses as he realizes he’s hit the cat with the door. Zayn looks down just in time for Melvin to make a mad dash for the living room, hissing as he goes.

“That Melvin?” He says, looking back to Harry.

The answer is yes but it takes a moment for Harry to actually get the word out of his lips. It’s just that Zayn looks so lovely like this, red, red lips and dark honey eyes, curiosity in his smile as his chest rises and falls to prove he feels as disoriented as Harry does.

“That’s him,” he manages. “A real gentlemen he is.”

Zayn laughs but then his mouth is back on Harry’s as they march into the bedroom, Harry with the blind hope Zayn is watching where they’re going. He’s sure they must be getting near the bed when Zayn stops abruptly. He stops kissing Harry too and steps back, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Harry’s blood pounds hotter and faster in his ears.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Zayn says, his hands tracing Harry’s sides from his ribs, down over his hips and to his ass where he squeezes and his eyes go darker at Harry’s punched out breath.

“Believe me, so have I.” Harry let’s his eyes trace over Zayn slowly, his broad shoulders and thin hips, the way his jeans hug his legs. He licks his lip, trying to decide what he wants first, what to touch, what to taste. Zayn beats him to it.

“Take off your shirt,” he says.

Harry raises his eyebrows but doesn’t question the demand. He slips his red and black plaid over his shoulders and then takes off his white t-shirt, letting it drop unceremoniously onto the ground. He’s not shy about his body, not by a long shot, but standing half dressed in front of Zayn feels like a bit too much for his fluttering heart. Zayn’s eyes drape over Harry’s exposed skin and Harry tries not to squirm or turn away. It’s not natural to feel comfortable like this, like he’s being taken apart without being touched but Zayn is doing it so well. Harry wonders when the last time was that he got hard just by someone’s eyes on him. His clouded brain is organized enough to think that it may be never.

“You,” Harry says. “You take off your shirt.”

Zayn smiles, bites his lip as he grabs the hem of his long sleeved henley. He rocks is hips while he’s taking it off like he’s trying to channel his inner stripper. Harry can appreciate the effort.

Harry’s ink he’s collected over the years, the symbolic and the stupid, can’t compare to Zayn, the gun on his hip and playing cards over his ribs, wings and lips over his chest, his arms covered in pieces Harry still hasn’t discovered.

Harry catches him around the hips as they kiss again, Zayn’s hands finding Harry’s wrists and pinning them to his sides. Zayn kisses along his collarbones and sweeps low over his chest, licking around his nipples and biting gently before working his way back up. Harry fights his grip to put his hands in Zayn’s hair and hold his face steady as he makes marks on Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands push back over Zayn’s shoulders down to his jeans, fingers tucking in the back waistband and sliding to the front where he undoes the button and zip. Zayn looks up at him with a sly smile before repeating the same thing to Harry, tugging once he has Harry’s fly undone. Harry takes over then and shimmies his hips to get his tight jeans over his thighs and down to his ankles.

Something else takes over both of them right then, Zayn pressing in hard and fast everywhere at once, spinning Harry around to face away with him and kissing shoulder to shoulder and dotting his lips down his spine. His hands run over Harry’s stomach, twisting nipples, pinching his skin and scratching. Harry’s head falls back on Zayn’s shoulder when his legs start to shake, all of it too much.

“Get on the bed,” Zayn whispers against his shoulder. Harry goes to turn to face him and Zayn shakes his head, “No, like this babe.”

Harry swallows and knees up onto the bed, landing on all fours. He looks over his shoulder at Zayn standing behind him, eyes hooded as his fingertips dance along the back of Harry’s thighs.

He tilts his head and simple as anything asks, “Can I eat you out, babe?” Harry nods so fast his hair gets caught in his mouth and he fishes the stray piece out as his cheeks flame. Zayn bends forward to kiss Harry’s hip, “Told you I’d make you blush.”

“Mission accomplished,” Harry says, hands clenching into fists just at the conversation about what’s coming next.

“It’s okay, though?” Zayn runs his hands, so gentle, up Harry’s ribs.

“More than, Zayn,” Harry says, looking over his shoulder and right at him.

Zayn doesn’t wait any longer than that just asks Harry scoot up further on the bed, and push his knees up further under him. He kisses down Harry’s spine again and then hooks his fingers to pull Harry’s boxers down and tucks them under the swell of his ass. He sinks his teeth into one cheek but then his thumbs spread Harry apart and Harry just about loses it, falling from his palms to his elbows.

He’s never had something like this, something hot and slow and heated. College was always an experiment, for him, for the guys he was with. Everyone was trying to figure their shit out and the first time a guy touched his tongue to Harry’s ass, he turned as red as a tomato and made him stop immediately. It was too much, too hesitant and too personal.

Zayn effectively pushes Harry’s thoughts away for him, diving right in with his tongue and making Harry grunt at the force. It’s weird, it’s still weird, but this time it’s Zayn--sure and strong and holding Harry’s hips so tight—it’s hot is what it is. Harry is too turned on to be embarrassed, too lost to even think coherent thoughts anymore.

His mouth drops open as Zayn presses inside him with his tongue, a silent yell as sweat beads around his hairline. His fists clench in the sheets as Zayn’s tongue turns to his teeth, a soft circle only to be replaced by his tongue again. When Harry breathes in, it’s shaky and must come out too much of a whimper because Zayn stops, his chin suddenly resting up on Harry’s hip.

“You good, babe?” He squeezes Harry’s sides and Harry nods, hair flying.

“This is—it’s very good,” he manages finally.

“Very good,” Zayn’s breath comes out warm against the small of Harry’s back again as he moves further down. “Like a grade in school,” he laughs. “You’re very good too,” he says, fingernails smoothing down Harry’s thighs and then back up sharper. “Sweet like a Georgia peach.” He punctuates his sentence by dragging his tongue between Harry’s balls and up higher and higher until he’s circling his rim again.

This time Harry’s eyes cross and he pushes back towards Zayn, chasing the sensation and letting every wave of shock rock through him like an ocean beating against the shore. Each surge collects in his stomach, gathering with each flick of Zayn’s tongue, intensifying when he touches where his tongue has just been with his fingers as if checking his work.

Harry’s thighs shake, his stomach quivers, and his arms go on the verge of giving out underneath him. There’s also the chance he’s going to come from Zayn’s mouth like this, that’s he going to absolutely lose control and combust right there as it builds, as Zayn gets sloppier with his licks, his fingers digging into Harry’s hips. It’s so good there’s drool on the corner of Harry’s lips and his eyes have tears on their edges. Never, ever, has he had anything like this and it’s all so much.

The over thinking or maybe the way Zayn twists his fingers next pushes past an invisible edge and Harry collapses flat onto his stomach, groaning as his hard cock brushes the rougher cotton of his duvet cover. His lungs feel like they might explode in his chest--surely that can’t be possible or at least he hopes it’s not. He tries to say that to Zayn, to explain but all he gets out is, “Ung.” That makes Zayn smile against his skin as he drags his lips up Harry’s back. He kisses the side of his neck and then his cheek.

“How’re we doing, love?”

Harry closes his eyes, and lets Zayn nose behind his ear. “I’ve died. This is it. The end.”

“You flatter me,” Zayn snorts over his own words and Harry laughs at him too. “Roll over, sweetheart,” he says, right against Harry’s ear.

Zayn holds himself up on his arms as Harry rolls over to his back though flop is the better description. His arms and legs have turned to jelly and he’s still too hard to see straight. He grins at Zayn, “What now, babe?”

“I have lots of ideas but maybe you can choose next?”

“A selfless lover,” Harry notes.

Zayn groans, “That sounds like you’re setting up to narrate some old man porn.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “You watch a lot of that, or?” Zayn kisses him to make him shut up and it works for a moment until Harry’s eyes go wide as he realizes that he’s tasting himself on Zayn’s tongue. Sweet like a Georgia peach is a generous statement but still, the idea, the intimacy, has his hips pressing up against Zayn’s, finding friction in the front of his slate grey boxers.

Zayn pulls back with a wet click of his lips, “Have you made up your mind? My dick might snap clean off if it doesn’t get some relief.”

Harry doesn’t mean to giggle at him but it bubbles out anyway. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “I want to ride you.”

He’s satisfied to see Zayn’s eyes rolls back into his head as he nods, biting his lip. “That sounds fine.”

“Fine?” Harry squawks as he uses all that’s left of his strength the roll so Zayn is the one on his back. “It’s going to be more than fine.”

He settles over Zayn’s hips and Zayn traces absent lines over the tops of his thighs. “Prove it.”

Harry leans away from him to get a condom and an embarrassingly full bottle of lube from the side table. He may have hunted both down from the depths of his drawer the night before just in case, just to be ready. His hands are still shaking so he sets the supplies on Zayn’s chest for the moment and kisses down his stomach until he can get Zayn’s boxers off fully. He chucks them across the room and they hook on the doorknob. He raises his hands in the air like a football player scoring a touchdown but then Zayn wraps fist around his cock and tugs a little and Harry remembers what it is they’re supposed to be doing.

Zayn keeps one hand on Harry’s cock, pulling gently as he reaches around him to feel at where his tongue had been minutes before. Harry’s head drop back on his neck as Zayn stretches him all that bit further, pressing his fingers inside again and again until Harry nods.

Harry takes the condom from Zayn’s chest and tears the packet with his teeth. He holds it between his fingers as he scoot down to get his mouth on Zayn, licking the slickness at the head of his cock and then filling his mouth as he goes down further, until his top lip presses against the coarse hair of Zayn’s groin.

“Dear god—fuck,” Zayn tugs Harry’s head back up with both of his hands. “I’m about to come at the slightest breeze so maybe let’s skip the foreplay, yeah? Good to know you have no gag reflex though.” His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head and Harry smiles, pleased.

“Okay,” he says, licking his lips.

Zayn closes his eyes, “You might be the death of me. Fair warning.”

Harry grins at that but follows Zayn’s wishes and rolls the condom on over him. There’s shifting, awkward sounds, and a couple of gasps on the edge of uncomfortable before they get it right and Harry is seated fully, his hands braced on Zayn’s chest. The moving together comes easy--both of them too turned on, too close, to do more than rock against each other. Harry’s nerve endings catch fire from his skin to the center of his stomach, burning him from the inside as he pants and focuses on Zayn. Zayn is beautiful under him, a crease between his eyebrows and his lips parted as his heavy eyes watch Harry too.

“I’m going to—yeah.” Zayn bites his lip but Harry knows what he’s saying. Harry grabs for Zayn’s hands and presses them back by his shoulders as he focuses solely on curling his hips, rolling with relentless pressure and not letting Zayn touch.

“Come on,” Harry grits out, focusing so hard on not exploding into thin air that his legs start to go numb. “Please, baby.”

Like the swell of a wave, Harry watches as Zayn’s eyebrows furrow first, then his eyes roll back, and his teeth bite down on his lip before his face all relaxes at once and he groans, long and drawn out and going silent at the end. Harry’s only heard him make the sound once but suddenly it’s his favorite sound ever. He slows his hips to a gentle roll as Zayn comes back down, Harry biting his own lip so hard it almost hurts.

Zayn sits up without a warning and pushes Harry to the side, slipping out of him in one motion. Harry feels suddenly empty and stretched and full and too much and not enough and his eyes search for Zayn, not having to look far at all. Zayn kisses him as he grabs Harry’s cock with his hand. He pulls up, twists and back down, barely twice before every muscle in Harry’s body tightens, his back bowing up in a curve, toes curling and his mouth opening in another silent yell as he comes, waves crashing and coursing through him, reds and purples dancing behind his eyes again and again, fireworks pulsing hot against the backs of his eyelids. He wants to open his eyes, he wants to see Zayn’s face but he can’t do it--his body is still pulsing, his heart beating in every one of his pores.

“You look high as hell,” Zayn whispers against his jaw before pressing his face against Harry’s neck and breathing in. It can’t smell good, sweat and sex, but Zayn kisses the side of his neck so Harry lets it go.

After a few moments, Harry’s breathing settles enough to recognize Zayn’s chest rising and falling against his, their hearts beating in time. He could fall asleep, right like this, without another thought. Zayn’s laughter brings him back to semi-alertness.

“What?” He whispers.

“I was just imagining,” Zayn murmurs right into his skin, “What if your come stuck our stomachs together and we had peel apart like dried up glue.”

Harry gags, “Get up, get off, right now.”

Zayn laughs and presses up onto his palms, there is a bit of a slick sound between them at the separation. They ignore it in favor of kissing again, sweet and soft despite everything they’ve just done.  They get in Harry’s shower once they collect themselves, a tighter fit than Harry expects considering he’s never had anyone in his shower with him before. He washes Zayn’s hair and then Zayn does his quickly as well. Harry starts to get hard again and Zayn makes fun of him but then kisses him under the spray of the shower to that’s okay.

They climb in Harry’s bed with wet hair and no clothes, wrapping around each other tightly. Harry moves to get comfortable on his side and Zayn crowds in close behind, his ankle twisting between Harry’s and his arm over Harry’s chest. It’s been a long time, too long, since Harry has had someone else in his bed. Someone he cares about. He ignores that for that moment, just falls asleep in Zayn’s arms without thinking about what this might all mean, what it will mean when it can’t be anything anymore.

…

Harry is disoriented when he wakes up in the morning, the back of his hand stuck to the side of his face with drool and his bones and muscles sore as he rolls to his back and stretches. He opens his eyes to check for Zayn next to him but comes up empty. The covers are all messed up and the pillow has a Zayn-like indent but he’s definitely not there. Harry stretches once more and lets his hips curve up off the bed before he sits up.

He slides his boxers on and heads out of his bedroom in search of something to drink, his throat scratchy and mouth dry. He stops right in his doorway as soon as he spots Zayn. There, on the couch in his boxers and nothing else, is Zayn with Melvin sitting in his lap as they touch noses. Melvin’s tail swishes innocently against Zayn’s bare knee. Harry stares openly.

His presence must catch Zayn’s eye because he looks over and smiles his megawatt smile right at Harry. “Morning, babe.”

Harry is kind of over the moon Zayn didn’t leave yet—that, and a bit confused about his new best friend, Melvin. “You tamed my cat.”

“He’s not that bad,” Zayn says, scratching behind Melvin’s ear. “I came to get a glass of water and he was so peaceful sleeping that I came and sat down next to him.”

“You woke him up?” Harry’s eyes go wide and he gestures at the most recent scratches on his own shoulders, “He’s an attack cat when you wake him up.”

“Sorry babe, he must just like me more.”

“Traitors,” Harry says, “Both of you.”

Zayn grins and pretends to high five Melvin. Harry gets a glass of water from the kitchen and then sits next to Zayn with his knees pulled up under himself and the side of his head resting on Zayn’s shoulder. Melvin moves to Zayn’s other side and leaves Zayn a free arm to wrap around Harry, kissing his forehead twice and then letting his fingers run tracks over his side.

Harry knows they don’t need to talk about last night, to define anything between them. Zayn said the first day they talked that he doesn’t stay anywhere for long. So it’s not a question of making him stay only of when he will leave and that’s a question Harry doesn’t want to touch yet. Not when this is fresh and ripening like an orange in summer.

“Sleep good?” Zayn murmurs. It’s less of a murmur than it is quiet like he doesn’t want to disturb such a soft morning.

Harry nods, his hand falling to Zayn’s thigh and fiddling with the bottom of his boxers. “Fucked me right to sleep, you did.”

Zayn laughs and the warm air huffs against Harry’s hair. “You’ve got a dirty mouth, you know?”

Harry laughs too and bites his lip. “I do. Haven’t had a good reason to use it in a long time.” He’s not sure why he says that, maybe his own way of telling Zayn he’s special to Harry.

“Yeah?”

Harry nods, “And you are an excellent reason to bring it back out to play. I haven’t had a night as good as last night in just about ever.”

Zayn laughs quietly, his chest puffs out over his ribs. “Me neither, honestly.”

Harry kisses his shoulder and then rests his head back down. They’re quiet for awhile, stroking and touching softly, Melvin purring audibly next to Zayn.

“Do you want breakfast?” Harry asks, sitting up finally. He ties his hair up in a bun as he gets off the couch and stretches.

“Are you offering to cook for me?” Zayn closes his eyes and falls back on the couch, “This is a dream.”

Harry laughs he goes to the kitchen, scratching the front of his thigh. “I’ll make a scramble.”

He washes his hands and gets out his ingredients, starting first with hash browns in oil on the stove. He yelps when a drop of oil pops out against his stomach.

“You good?” Zayn calls.

“Fine,” Harry says, taking a step back. “Cooking shirtless isn’t my best idea.”

“Ah, but babe, the view is incredible.”

Harry looks over his shoulder to find Zayn sitting backwards on the couch with Melvin in his lap and a straight on view of Harry in the kitchen. He grins. Harry rolls his eyes and goes back to cooking. He does turn on the small radio next to the stove and turns up the Bruce Springsteen song.

_Everything dies baby, that’s a fact. But everything that dies someday comes back._

He sways his hips a bit which must work for Zayn because he catcalls from the couch. Harry loses himself in the music and getting the rest of breakfast ready, setting out orange juice and browning the hash browns. He cracks five eggs over the top and mixes it together over heat, cutting up mushrooms and green peppers to go in with it all. Harry adds in some hot sauce for good measure the way his stepdad taught him. He’s still stirring it all together when Zayn comes up behind him. He doesn’t jump as Zayn wraps his arms around his waist and kisses the side of his neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. It feels perfectly natural even though Zayn’s never held onto him like this. Still, Harry can’t help himself. He’d like to have this everyday, if only he could.

…

October is Harry’s favorite month of the year. Not for Halloween, though he likes that too, but for the way the air is always crispy cold and the leaves fall from the trees while everyone bundles up in their fall layers with beanies and big jackets with boots. It’s the true beginning of fall and every year he gets a warm whip of a feeling once it starts--the beginning of the best time of year. This year, this October, is the same as always but this time, an added and unexpected bonus, he also has Zayn and somehow that makes everything about his favorite month all the sweeter.

Aurora starts carrying the orange and cranberry scones Harry has told Zayn about, which he makes Zayn try the moment he walks in the door after their weekend together. Zayn barely gets time to kiss Harry hello, before Harry is shoving the scone and him with a grin.

“First day of October,” he says as an explanation.

Zayn laughs, “I remember.” He takes a bite and then another, smiling at Harry before he’s even gone to his normal table. “Very good,” he says.

Harry blushes, the Pavlovian effect of the phrase being said when they were in bed together. Zayn must not be kidding though because he orders a scone each day he’s there from then on out.

He finishes another red notebook by the end of the week too. Harry notices this time when he’s on the very last page. “Is it all writing?” Harry asks on a lunch break, eating a sloppy BLT while Zayn works.

“Not all of it,” Zayn says. He flips open to two of the pages covered in drawings of different things and big bubble graffiti-style letters.

“Oh, you’re an artist too then,” Harry says, licking a drop of mayo from his lip.

Zayn laughs, “This is when I’m frustrated and can’t think of what to write next.”

“In the middle of your next book, please interrupt it with two full pages of your drawings.”

“Not sure that’ll go with the plot,” Zayn says, his nose scrunching.

“What is the plot? You’ve never told me.”

Zayn laughs, “I don’t tell anyone the plot until the draft is done.”

“Even your editor?”

“She knows,” he admits. “She wouldn’t probably help arrange an advance for me if I was writing a mysterious book.”

“When do you get an advance?” Harry props his chin on his hand.

“I’ll get it in four parts. I have the first, which I usually use to travel where I want to write. The next part comes once my editor approves my draft.”

“Time is money,” Harry says, nodding. He loves everything about books and though he doesn’t ever want to write one himself, his interest has always peaked when it comes to the process of books getting from someone’s head to a shelf. “You must be almost done, yeah? You have like four notebooks in your room. Unless those are all drawings like this?” He traces one finger over the lines Zayn has drawn.

“The first two are absolute shit,” Zayn says. “All outlines and ideas and half written sentences. It’s like clearing a clogged pipe when I first start writing something. Once I get a bunch of crap on the paper then I can finally get a good roll going.”

Harry’s fingers stop tracing and Zayn places his hand on top, tapping his fingertips against Harry’s veins. “Will you tell me the plot after your first draft?” Harry’s voice is quieter than he means but he tells himself that it’s only so he doesn’t draw attention to them at the corner table. People don’t stare as much this way and he’d like to keep it like that.

“Of course, babe.” Zayn smiles softly. “I’ll add you to my advanced copy list.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Sounds pretty official.”

Zayn just laughs. “Oh it is.”

With the end of the first draft looming, Zayn spends less time at the café handwriting and more time back in his room typing up his draft and editing it on his computer. He still comes by for coffee in the mornings or lunch and always tells Harry where he’ll be when he leaves. Some nights Harry works too late to go see him but other nights he drops dessert with Niall and goes right to Zayn’s room. Sometimes Zayn will be on a tear and keep writing while Harry lounges on his bed, reading a book of his own or writing mindless poetry for his eyes only.

Harry and Zayn get out of Aurora for dates most nights, building their memories outside of where they first laid their foundation. With the nights still relatively clear, Harry invites Zayn to lie under the stars in a field leading up to the lake on a Friday. They lay on their backs on a thick blanket, wrapped up in their heavy jackets with beanies over their heads. Despite the cold, they play with each other’s fingers and gaze up at the endless night sky, the pin pricks of stars the only interruptions against the dark. A train rolls by on the edge of town and it echoes through Summerville, so much the ground shakes under Harry and Zayn. They roll together so their chests touch and Harry can feel Zayn's heartbeat through his clothes right there against his own.

"Did that scare you?" Harry whispers against his cheek, reveling in the warmth of Zayn's breath against his neck.

"It's so quiet here," Zayn says, right up to Harry's skin. "Sometimes I forget there's another world that exists out there."

Harry hums and pulls in closer to Zayn, kissing the skin he had been whispering against a moment before. The difference between the two of them is that Zayn is here to forget the world that exists outside the city limits and that world beyond is the only one Harry can't seem to get over.

Harry cooks dinner for Zayn sometimes and one night Zayn comes over with grocery bags and cooks dinner for Harry.

“I’d do this for you if I had a kitchen,” Zayn says when he walks in. “So you go sit over there and pretend this is my kitchen instead.”

Harry, who has spent the better half of his day cleaning up spills at the café and running food to impatient customers, is more than happy to lie on the couch while he listens to Zayn cook. Curiosity gets the better of him and he sits up to watch eventually, smiling at how natural Zayn is now that he knows where everything is.

They eat spaghetti at the counter and, maybe because he doesn’t cook it himself, Harry thinks it’s the best he’s ever had. He tells Zayn as much and then kisses him, tomato sauce lips and all. Harry offers to do the dishes once they finish though he asks Zayn to go get his mail at the end of the road in return. He’s elbow deep in soapy water when Zayn comes back, a padded envelope clenched between his fingers.

“This is from Ms. Gemma Styles,” Zayn reads the return address flapping it back and forth.

Harry uses his dry forearm to push his hair out of his face. “Open it for me?” Harry usually opens Gemma’s magnets alone; most people think the whole charade is a pity gesture from his sister though Zayn seems to get it. Harry will go to those places. Eventually. He’s working up to it. Just like Zayn will go home. Eventually. He’s working up to that too.

Zayn jumps on the counter next to Harry while he tears it open.  “Los Angeles,” Zayn says, holding up the red printed heart and black inked LA on a white magnet for Harry to see.

“I think she’s been there before,” Harry says, trying to remember. “In fact, I’m sure she has.”

Zayn goes to the refrigerator and is quiet for a moment while he looks. Harry feels another zip of butterflies in his stomach, commonplace around Zayn and he knows he’ll miss them when they’re gone.

“Yep,” Zayn says finally. He peels a magnet off of the fridge and brings it to Harry, “Someone in Los Angeles loves me,” he reads.

“She’s a dirty cheater,” Harry says. He sets a plate on the drain board to dry. “I’m going to tell her I don’t accept doubles.”

Zayn laughs as he gets back on the counter. There’s a postcard in the envelope too, which Zayn reads out loud, pausing over the ending. “P.S. Tell Zayn I say hello and I hope he’s not an asshole.”

Harry laughs without looking up from where he’s scrubbing the saucepan with a coarse brush.

“You told your sister about me?” Zayn’s voice, quiet, is what makes Harry look up at him.

“I called her when I was walking to work one morning and your name slipped out,” Harry says. He turns on the faucet to rinse the suds before turning it off again.

Zayn smiles, “I told my older sister about you too.” He leans forward and tilts Harry’s chin up to kiss him, slowly opening his mouth and tasting his tongue. “Now, where is this magnet going?”

Harry dries his hands, studying the conglomerate of colors before putting it on the opposite side of the refrigerator, furthest from the original Los Angeles magnet. “That’s just embarrassing to have two right next to each other,” Harry explains while Zayn starts kissing his neck.

“Obviously,” Zayn says against his skin, his hands going to the front of Harry’s jeans to tug on the button. Pretty soon, Harry has his hands up against the wall in the hallway with Zayn pressed right up to his back, his fingers relentless in their pursuit to make Harry’s knees shake and the magnets, duplicates and all, fade from his mind altogether.

Melvin officially likes Zayn the most, they decide-–Zayn excitedly and Harry begrudgingly. When Harry and Zayn lay on the couch together, he always tries to worm his way between their bodies to sit with Zayn. Harry has to lock him in the bedroom one night when he just wants to cuddle and watch a movie without a passive aggressive cat trying to steal his man. It’s a hard life.

There’s a thunderstorm one night, another of Harry’s favorite things about October, and Harry opens the window in his bedroom so they can hear the rain and see the flashes. Zayn comes back from securing Melvin in the bathroom for the night so that he doesn’t get scared and he calls Harry crazy for purposely making it cold in the bedroom.

“Maybe I am,” Harry says making his eyes wide and wild as he pushes Zayn onto the bed. That night, Zayn is on his back while Harry does all the work, pressing into him slowly and trying to desperately remember the feeling and the look on Zayn’s face as their bodies move together. It’s made better with the lightening and the pounding rain. Once they’re sweaty and exhausted, wrapped in each other under the covers, Zayn admits he likes the atmosphere too.

They do another guy’s night with Louis, Liam, and Niall, a mini-golf place a couple of towns over—Niall beats them handedly—and then dinner of fried chicken and waffles that makes them all sick. Though they all know Zayn likes Harry the most, he still finds time for the other boys, going to the movies with Liam and keeping Louis company when he has to babysit his younger siblings. Niall gets to see Zayn daily and they always show up to everything at the same time, choosing to walk together rather than apart.

In the middle of the month, Harry’s mom calls and asks him to come to dinner and he says yes considering it will have been the seventh time in a row if he declined. He loves going for dinner but he also likes to have his life separate from his mom and stepdad—it’s necessary when they all live in the same town.

“Will you bring that boy?” His mom asks, a smile in her voice. “Gemma says you’re seeing someone.”

“Gemma needs to keep her mouth closed,” Harry says. He smiles too though mostly because he can see Zayn coming down the street to his house, a bottle of wine in his hand. “But, yes, I’ll see if he wants to come.”

They’re playing Scrabble and drinking red wine when Harry asks Zayn to go to dinner with his parents. Only once it’s out of his mouth does he realize the implication and seriousness of such a meeting.

“Sure,” Zayn says, simple as anything. That’s how it always is with Zayn, simple. I like you, you like me—no difficult math hidden in between the letters.

Harry picks up Zayn from the bed and breakfast the next night and Zayn looks dressed up in a white button down shirt and black pants. Harry had put a purple headscarf in his hair to tame his curls and a new black t-shirt but Zayn has him beat.

“What’s that?” Harry asks when Zayn gets in holding something wrapped in tissue paper.

“I wanted to bring a hostess gift,” Zayn says.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry says, smiling over his words. His heart does a backflip at how thoughtful Zayn always is, how sweet.

“I wanted to, though. And the store was having a buy one get one free deal so I couldn’t say no.”

“What’d you get?” Harry glances over as he pulls away from the curb.

“Candles,” Zayn says, laughing. “Seemed like a mom gift.”

“A very mom gift,” Harry says. “I don’t know what that says about me though because I like candles too.”

“Good,” Zayn says. He leans over to kiss Harry’s cheek. “I got you one too. Like I said,” he adds before Harry can say anything, “The store was having a deal.”

Harry bites his bottom lip over a smile.

“I got your mom Pumpkin Pie,” Zayn says, holding up an orange candle in a glass jar. “And I got you, Georgia Peach.”

Harry looks over so fast his neck cracks. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, holding up a peachy colored candle next. “You know why?”

“No idea,” Harry says, shrugging.

“Because you’re sweet like a Georgia peach, babe.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “We’re in South Carolina.”

Zayn sits back in his seat, “Details.”

Dinner goes off without a hitch minus Harry’s mom fawning over Zayn and inviting him over for Thanksgiving and Christmas by the time they’re leaving. Zayn doesn’t say yes or no just kisses her cheek in thanks as they stand in the driveway by Harry’s car. Harry hopes his smile doesn’t show his biggest fear – that Zayn will be gone before November even starts.

…

The first night Harry actually sleeps over in Zayn’s room, Niall is on him like an attack dog in the morning once he stumbles into the kitchen while it’s dark. “I told you there’s no sex in my parent’s place of business,” he hisses over a cup of coffee while Harry gets ready to leave and go to work.

“Oh shush,” Harry says, “I know you have Kaya stay over all the time.” He doesn’t know that but Niall blushes so, technically, now he does.

The entire way to work Harry thinks about leaving Zayn in his bed, the way the corners of his mouth turn up even in his sleep. While Louis babbles on about some project Danielle is working on as they get ready to open, his mind drifts to the night before. He sucked Zayn off while he sat at his desk, his draft open on his computer and then Zayn fucked Harry on his back, his ankles wrapped around his waist and his hands gripping the headboard over his head.

“Hello? Are you listening to me?”

Harry blinks to focus on where Louis is staring at him, waving impatiently as though he’s been doing it for longer than Harry realizes. “No. Sorry. What?”

Louis rolls his eyes and pushes on. “I’m just saying could you ever do what Zayn does? Like travel around without calling somewhere home?”

Harry shakes his head, the answer is easy; as much as he doesn’t want to stay in this town forever, he likes a home base where everything belongs to him and he knows the names of the street and there’s a memory around every corner. He could never stay in constant motion. “No way. It would be like starting over every few months. I couldn’t take that.” He wants to start over just once, not over and over again.

“Exactly,” Louis says before launching into the rest of the story that goes with that, one Harry zones out for. Again.

There’s a thick acid in his stomach at the idea of bringing it up—Zayn’s imminent departure--because the truth is that Zayn hasn’t settled in one place for longer than a couple of months in years. Summerville is not going to be the exception, Harry knows.

Late that night, once Aurora closes, Harry and Zayn drive up to the lookout point over the lake. Harry backs the jeep in so they can sit in the back and look out at the water below. With only the moonlight and the stars, the lake looks like it’s made of granite, shiny and black. Zayn sits with his back to the seat and Harry between his legs, two blankets and their sweatshirts to keep them warm. Zayn’s arms are wrapped around Harry, their fingers twisted together over Harry’s chest.

They talk about nothing important, laughing and light hearted as usual. Zayn says he’s nearly done with his first draft that it shouldn’t be more than a week before he turns it into his editor.

“And then you’re leaving?” Harry asks, speaking the one question that has pulled at him since the beginning. Not even a question, exactly, more a statement that he needs Zayn to confirm.

“Not right now,” Zayn says, kissing the side of Harry’s neck. His lips stay there and Harry feels when Zayn inhales the smell of his hair.

“But in a week, when you finish your draft?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says after a pause. “I’ll need to go to my editor’s offices to review with her and everything but I don’t know when that is. Could be sooner or later.”

Harry sighs and his eyes sting but he’s not going to actually get emotional because he’s known the score the whole time. “Eventually though, you’ll have to leave?”

He feels Zayn’s jaw clench against the side of his neck. He wonders if Zayn will lie to get them through or if he’ll come to his senses instead and realize they’re too attached for their own good. Harry knows they are, everything about what they’re doing will be painful in the end, but he doesn’t mind. The pain at the finale still doesn’t matter as much as the moments they have now. He just doesn’t know if Zayn is a masochist too.

“Eventually,” Zayn finally says, squeezing his arms tighter around Harry like he’s saying something else too. Harry doesn’t know what. He exhales between tightened lips; it’s shaky.

“What should we be for Halloween?” Zayn asks, smiling against Harry’s ear. He must know that Harry is about to break because he kisses just under his ear and squeezes him again. “Niall said he’s hosting a party at the bed and breakfast?”

Harry nods, just like everything else; the Halloween party is the same as always. “Are you suggesting couple costumes?”

Zayn bites Harry’s neck, a vampire in the making. “I’m not not suggesting it.”

“Double negative,” Harry says. He turns his face and kisses Zayn’s arm and gets a mouthful of sweatshirt.

They spend the rest of their time at the lookout brainstorming ideas, eggs and bacon, a doctor and a nurse, Mario and Luigi.

“What about Princess Leia and Hans Solo?” Zayn asks. He starts parting Harry’s hair to two sides, “I think you’d look lovely with two buns on the side of your head.”

They finally decide on Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Mostly because Harry already has a pink and white polka dot shirt and Zayn has red suspenders that Harry really wants to see. They end the night by making out in the trunk of the jeep and jerking each other off under the blankets, laughing against each other’s mouths like their eighteen and evading a curfew.

By the time they get back to Harry’s and get in bed, Zayn on his side and Harry on his, Harry doesn’t even dwell over their eventually. Somehow, eventually has become their favorite word and as Harry repeats it over and over, it loses all meaning.

The weekend before Halloween, and in preparation for Niall’s party, Harry and Zayn, Liam and London, Louis and Danielle, and Kaya and Niall go on a quadruple date to the pumpkin patch. They drink spiced cider and eat kettle corn, ride the hayride and pick out obnoxiously huge pumpkins at Niall’s direction. Harry reaches for Zayn’s hand once and they don’t let go, hips bumping as their rain boots sink in the muddy field.

Louis decides to make them all go through a corn maze as dusk falls which Harry automatically hates and feels claustrophobic about before they even get away from the entrance. Then, because Louis is a competitive dick, he makes them all split up into their respective couples and try to race to the finish.

Zayn and Harry stroll slowly, coming up to dead ends and rerouting. After nearly twenty minutes Harry starts to get panicky as they come to yet another wall of corn with no exit. He puts his hands on his hips and looks up towards the sky. If the thing was covered, he’d have a real problem.

“I feel like I might throw up,” he says. “We’re going to get trapped in here.”

“We’re not,” Zayn says, simple as always.

“How do you know that?” Harry doesn’t mean to snap but he never intended to die in a corn maze.

“The walls are corn, babe. We can just dig them out and make our own path.”

Harry smiles and it relaxes the slip of panic. He looks up at the sky again and notices the darkness crowding in. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zayn move and then watches as he backs himself up against the corner of the dead end.

 

“Hey. Come here.”

“Where?” Harry tilts his head.

“Right here,” Zayn says, stomping his feet a bit.

Harry complies and goes to stand right where Zayn has his back against the wall of corn. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says. “Just wanted to make out a bit.” He smiles up against Harry’s mouth and properly distracts him from the thought of being stuck in a corn maze for the rest of his life.

It’s a moment in time that Harry thinks is comparable for Zayn in general – whenever things are too much for Harry, Zayn takes them and makes them something brand new. It’s never scary through his eyes, it’s only simple.

By the time they make it back out of the maze, everyone is sitting on hay bales waiting for them.

“Christ,” Liam says, standing up. “Was there a wild animal in there?”

Harry and Zayn look at each other, confused.

“You look like you’ve been attacked Zayn.” Liam’s mock concern dissolves into laughter. Harry figures out what Liam is talking about when he sees the marks on Zayn’s neck that weren’t there when they started the maze an hour ago.

“We got lost,” Zayn says by way of explanation, grabbing Harry’s hand and tugging him in closer as they both start laughing. Harry kisses Zayn’s cheek and he can’t even be bothered by the rest of their friends making fun of them for the rest of the night.

…

Two days before Halloween, Harry and Louis spend the morning decorating Aurora with green, orange, and purple strings of lights and miniature pumpkins on each of the tables. They put full size pumpkins down the front porch as well, hay bales instead of the normal benches out front and ghosts on wooden stakes in the lawn. Neither one of them is even that enthusiastic about Halloween but Aurora dressed up for occasion has become a hallmark of their tiny town.

“How’s everything with Zayn?” Louis asks while they arrange frosted pumpkin cookies on a glass cake plate for display.

“Really good,” Harry says, reminiscing briefly on the night before when they watched Antique Road Show and then played strip poker for fun. “Honestly.” He looks up at Louis and smiles.

“I know, I can tell.” Louis rolls his lips together and Harry knows he has something else to say so he stays quiet, waiting. “Has he said anything about leaving?”

Harry shrugs, “Just like, eventually.”

“Eventually?” Louis repeats.

When it’s just Harry and Zayn, eventually seems like a promise but with Louis repeating it, it seems like a wisp of a word, easy to tear though and poke at. “Yeah,” Harry says.

“And then what?” Louis arranges two more pumpkins while Harry stays quiet. Louis looks up at him. “Would you ever try long distance?”

Harry stares at the arrangement of cookies a beat longer before meeting Louis’ blue eyes. “I don’t really know.”

“Fuck knowing, how do you feel?”

Harry considers, “I think I like him a lot more than I really should.” It’s a relief to finally say it out loud, to admit that waiting for an inevitable ending has taken a toll on Harry’s heart as it has reached and weaved around Zayn’s the past few weeks.

Louis smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just enjoy the moment then, yeah?”

Harry nods and tries to smile but it comes out wrong. He’s always known the ending would come, since he first met Zayn, but for the first time, he feels like he’s a train about to run off the track and he can’t figure out where the track drops off and the hard ground begins.

They finish the pumpkin cookies right as Todd Danza walks in the front door. Right behind him Zayn follows in his black leather jacket looking adorably too tired and fitting the early hour. Harry lets the haphazard train track fade from his mind when he sees Zayn. Lately, Zayn has had that effect on him.

“I’ll take Todd,” Louis murmurs to him and Harry nods.

“Hi,” Harry says smiling at Zayn. “Tired?”

Zayn leans against the counter and closes his eyes for a moment, “Exhausted. I want to get my draft to my editor today though so I wanted to get any early start.”

Harry knows he should say something about what he just talked about with Louis, the way his stomach is aching at the thought of Zayn having to leave but his mouth won’t do anything but smile.

It must be off because Zayn reaches for his face and smoothes his thumb over the furrow in Harry’s eyebrows. “You okay?” He asks.

“Just thinking,” Harry says. He goes up on his tiptoes to lean over the counter and kiss Zayn on the lips. “Go sit, I’ll bring you coffee and a,” he bites his lip, “Muffin or scone?”

“Scone, please.” Zayn kisses Harry once more before wandering away, his red notebook tucked under his arm.

“Are you going to say anything to him?” Louis asks when Harry walks away from Zayn’s table for the third time with nothing more than a few words and flirting glances.

“I don’t know,” Harry says honestly as he gathers plates for another one of his tables. Part of him wants to jump on the table and tell Zayn how he feels but the other part knows that it’s not fair to expect something from him that was never promised in the first place. Zayn will leave eventually, Harry will stay. That’s going to be the way it ends even if it hurts.

By the time Zayn gets ready to leave around the middle of the morning; Harry still hasn’t brought up anything to him nor made a decision if he even should. They’re standing to the side of the front door, Zayn’s arms around Harry’s waist as they talk quietly and rock in a gentle side to side motion that neither of them remembers starting.

“The next time you see me,” Zayn says, “I’ll have submitted my draft.”

“I know,” Harry says. “Then we can celebrate.” He ducks in and kisses Zayn once and then twice. “And then celebrate some more.”

Zayn grins, “Can’t wait.” He tilts his head and kisses the side of Harry’s neck. “I’ll see you soon, my sweet Georgia peach.”

“We’re in South Carolina,” Harry says but he’s laughing so it comes out muffled. “See you.” He kisses Zayn again and pushes him towards the door, “Now get out.”

The lunch rush doesn’t come since it’s the middle of the week though there are a few to-go orders to get together. Harry stays behind the counter mostly, running the cash register while Louis takes dine-in orders. The end of the month also means Harry has more financial statements to prepare and he drafts the weekly shopping list for the cooks, mind wandering towards Zayn, always towards Zayn as of late.

“Harry.”

Louis’ voice catches Harry’s attention and then he sees him walking across the café waving something in the air. “What?”

“Look,” he says, turning the thing in his hands around so Harry sees the flash of red. It’s Zayn’s notebook – or one of many. Harry’s surprised Zayn forgot it on the table considering he is always so careful with it. Before he can tell Louis not to open it, Louis has the notebook laid open on top of the counter.

“There’s nothing here,” he says, flipping the pages around. “It’s an empty notebook.”

Harry smirks, “He has like five or six full ones and a few extras on hand.”

Louis frowns and lifts up the notebook by its binding. “Anticlimactic that is.” As he says it, a folded packet of paper slips out onto the counter. “Oh, the mystery deepens.” Louis laughs.

Harry rolls his eyes and finishes writing bananas on his list. “Don’t snoop, Lou,” he says even as Louis unfolds the paper. Louis whistles lowly and Harry stares at him. “Yes?”

“It’s an email,” Louis says, flipping through the papers. “Between Zayn Malik and Cristiana Rollins, his editor I presume.”

Harry smiles, “Very good.”

“Subject line, new premise for book three,” Louis says like he’s reading a report. “Oh! Is this going to be the plot and spoilers? Nice.”

Harry puts his own pen down feeling like he’s betraying some unwritten trust between him and Zayn. “Louis just put it back in the notebook and I’ll take it back to him.”

“No, wait,” Louis pulls the papers back as Harry reaches for them. “Listen to this, it’s actually good: ‘The main character is too scared to ever leave the town where he was born, a fool for the town, maybe. He collects tacky magnets and holds onto them as promises to leave, promises he’ll never keep. A fool himself, maybe.’”

Harry’s face goes slack as blood pounds through his ears with a relentless rhythm as he listens. Its tunnel vision as he looks up at Louis, eyes wide.

“Oh fuck,” Louis whispers as he realizes what he has just read—who he has just read about.

Harry grabs the paper and reads it himself, his eyes going cloudy at the same details Louis just read aloud—the magnets of all things. He sets the paper down and puts his head in his hands. Zayn thinks he’s a fool and he just had to read it with his own eyes.

“Harry—"

Whatever Louis is going to say next, Harry shakes his head. “I just need a minute,” he says.

It turns out he needs more than a minute to figure out what emotion to hold onto. The anger courses hot and heady but twisting around it is something cooler, something that usually burns in his cheeks red hot: shame.

He stands at the counter staring at his work as the anger settles in a knot in his stomach and the shame pulses like a living, breathing thing up through his chest. He’s a character in Zayn’s book and Zayn didn’t even bother to tell him. He might have been flattered if he wasn’t so deeply offended.

He gets up when he realizes he’s not focusing and he can feel Louis’ eyes on him as he closes the financial statement binders and folds the shopping list. “I’m going to go outside for a moment,” he says calmly, holding on to the folded emails without looking up.

“Take your time,” Louis calls after him. Harry doesn’t turn around.

Outside, he kicks the edge of the café before he sits on the step. The step he stood on the first night he kissed Zayn or Zayn kissed him rather. _You like me, I like you. It’s simple._

Harry wipes the back of his sleeve over his nose; the cold air is crisp and cold, turning his fingers and face red. He doesn’t even know how to approach this with Zayn – he’s too stunned to begin to think about it, really. Zayn, his sweet Zayn, has a malicious edge he’s never seen and that hurts like a cut between his fingers.

He stays outside awhile longer, reading the email thread and then pressing his hands against his eyes so hard he sees fireworks again. These fireworks aren’t the ones Zayn has made him see before, they’re dull and diluted. Fitting because the butterflies living in his stomach the last eight weeks have just crash landed in an injured heap—he’s read the email with his own eyes, Zayn’s words as good as spoken allowed, the things he thinks of Harry.

He takes a deep breath before he goes back inside. He rips a piece of paper from the notebook and scrawls a note before taking it back to where Zayn always sits. He puts the email on top of the notebook and tapes his note to the front page. He reads it over again, biting his lip as he does – _Loved the part where the guy stays in the town where he was born, destined to rot on the same ground he was born._

Harry is distracted while he waits for Zayn to show back up for the notebook. He busies himself with talking to the Lopez triplets when they come in after school only to find out the other two have finally lost their front teeth as well. Then he talks with Matt in the kitchen about his daughters before resurfacing to the front and wiping down the counters again, and again. Usually, now would be when Louis tells him he’s going to take the finish off if he keeps cleaning but Louis stays quiet.

Harry watches Zayn walk up the front path on his third round of cleanings the counters. Zayn’s hands are shoved in his leather jacket but he doesn’t seem to be in a particular rush. Harry casts his eyes down right as Zayn walks in and pretends not to see him yet. He watches under his eyelashes, the relief that plays across Zayn’s face as he sees his notebook where he’s left it and then the confusion once he’s close enough to see the note Harry left him. This time when he looks back at Harry, Harry is staring at him, waiting. Louis is drying glasses at the other end of the counter but Harry can feel his eyes resting heavy on his back.  Zayn licks his lip and then walks over, the notebook curled in his hand.

“Harry,” he says, stopping in front of him. “I can explain all of this.”

Harry rolls his eyes and in a terse whisper he says, “So can I, Zayn. You used me as a fucking character in your book.”

“I didn’t.” Zayn casts his eyes around and lowers his voice. “I know what it looks like but I never meant for you to be that character.”

Harry scoffs, “Okay, sure. My biggest insecurities just make sense as the perfect flaw? That was convenient.”

“Babe, I didn’t mean it like that.” Zayn leans closer, “It’s not supposed to be you in the book. He’s just a character that shares one similarity.”

Harry bites his lip, “I told you that stuff about me in confidence. I didn’t expect you to be writing it all down while I sat next to you. Nor did I expect when you said you felt inspired here that it wasn’t the setting but that you had a human specimen to study right in front of you.”

“Harry.” Zayn braces his hands on the counter as he leans closer, “You can’t actually believe that? That I used you for research?”

Harry shakes his head barely hearing what Zayn has to say. “The point is that you used me for your fucked up inspiration and you didn’t expect me to find out.”

Zayn’s voice is sharp, “I told you that I never tell anyone in the plot before I finish. I promise planned to tell you about using the magnets eventually. I would never have let you find out like this.”

Harry pauses and then, “Easy to say in hindsight.”

Louis comes over then, maybe sensing the end of their whispered argument or gauging if they’re going to cause a scene in the café. “I think it would be best if you just go, Zayn,” Louis says, nodding towards the door.

Zayn looks between them both, his jaw dropped open, fingers twitching like he’s going to reach for Harry. Harry’s jaw pulses and he shakes his head before looking away.

“Can we at least discuss this later?” Zayn’s voice isn’t pleading but even in his frustration Harry hears the sincerity.

Harry looks at Louis but Louis doesn’t seem inclined to move away. Harry lifts his chin towards Zayn, “I just need some time, okay?”

Zayn nods, his eyes shifting toward Louis as if waiting for him to move. When he doesn’t, Zayn rolls his eyes and then kisses Harry anyway, his lips catching the corner of his mouth in barely a press. It leaves Harry cold and through the window when he sees Zayn run his hand back through his hair Harry thinks he might feel the same way.

...

Harry grinds out two more hours at Aurora before he can finally leave. Liam is walking in and makes some joke that Harry can’t quite find funny. His laugh is delayed and Liam goes silent as Harry walks past.

He debates just sucking it up and going to see Zayn but he doesn’t think he’s ready so soon. According to Zayn, it’s a case of bad timing which means Harry should let him explain it. That part is simple. What is harder for Harry to grasp is the realization of just how insecure he’s gotten about the magnets, the meaning behind them. He’s ashamed to have them at all but it’s worse to have shared them with someone he cared about only to have them spelled out as a character flaw in fiction.

Harry wraps himself in a blanket on his couch instead and marathons shows on TLC, ignoring Melvin’s hungry mewling from next to his bowl. Eventually, he gets up and feeds him and gets a cheese stick from the refrigerator before going back to his cocoon. After they both eat, Melvin watches him from the corner, something like pity behind his stupid cat eyes. Harry checks his phone pointlessly because, true to his request, Zayn has left him alone. It’s hard to be angry when this is what he asked for.

Once it gets dark outside, Harry locks his front door and changes into pajama pants before getting ice cream out of the freezer and eating a giant bowl of it on the couch. He falls asleep with his half eaten ice cream on the coffee table and wakes up to a congealed mess.

In a terribly weak moment the next morning, Harry calls Louis and tells him he’ll work the dinner shift instead of opening. Louis doesn’t chastise him too much but Harry is pretty sure he can hear him roll his eyes.

By the middle of the morning, Harry knows he needs to shower, get off the couch and call Zayn but then a new episode of Antique Road Show starts and he snuggles back into his blankets. Melvin is decidedly unimpressed to have Harry in his space and still sits in the corner of the room staring at him. Harry flips him off every once in a while to remind him who exactly is boss.

He’s still upset at Zayn, not as much pulsing with frustration as the day before. He’s hurt more than anything and he knows he has to talk to Zayn about it. Still, the petulant and melodramatic part of him wants to make Zayn sweat it out awhile longer anyway, realize that writing about people isn’t always flattering.

Late in the afternoon when Harry really is considering getting up, there’s a knock on his door. He bites his lip and lays flatter on the couch. He knows it must be Zayn because Niall is at work, Liam is covering Harry’s shift and Louis knows the spare key is under the gnarly looking gnome at the side of the house.

“Harry, I know you’re in there.”

Harry’s eyes go wide at Zayn’s muffled voice and he compresses even further into the couch.

“Babe,” Zayn says, “I can see Antique Road Show on the TV. We watched this episode a couple of weeks ago. That ring is a fake and both of those ladies are going to cry about it.”

Harry can’t help himself as he smiles into his pillow. He bites his lip to make himself stop, to remind himself to stay strong for a little while longer. He can be as stubborn as the best of them.

“If you’re not going to come over here, I’m just going to tell you what I came to say through the door.”

There’s a pause and Harry can picture Zayn sighing and crossing his arms, what he always does when Harry refuses to cooperate. It’s petty and he knows it but part of him wants to know what will happen next.

“I know you’re mad about the book,” Zayn says. “And you have every right to be. When I said I never tell anyone the plot, I was being honest with you. I don’t. I think its bad luck. But that doesn’t mean that I was trying to hide this from you. I was going to tell you and I hoped it would come out better than this. More that you were my muse than a scientific specimen or whatever you said yesterday.”

Harry snorts and watches as Melvin stands from his corner perch and stretches before walking toward Zayn’s voice. “You traitor,” Harry whispers, pointing at him.

“Muse sounds pretentious and I don’t even like that word,” Zayn keeps going and Harry closes his eyes. “But you’re mine, babe. I’ve never met someone like you and I want to dedicate novels to figuring out how to describe you on paper. This wasn’t an attempt at that. This was a clumsy swipe at it and I know that it hurt you. I never wanted to do that. You’re my sweet Georgia peach who wouldn’t hurt a fly and I know you’ll do all those things you want, eventually.”

Harry’s heart burns in his chest and he wants to run to Zayn, to tell him they have something bigger than words on a page, that he was hurt by his writing but when they both say eventually, he believes it too.

“Hey Melvin. Where’s your daddy?”

Harry rolls his eyes when Zayn taps on the glass. He really, really hates his cat.

“Anyway,” Zayn says, “I hope you are in there and you’re not sleeping. And I hope that I didn’t just confess this all to your empty house and your cat. I wanted the chance to explain to you because I never want you to feel like I’m sure you feel right now. So, yeah. That’s it.”

When the Antique Road Show goes to the next commercial, two women crying over their fake emerald ring, Harry sits up on the couch to finally face Zayn. He turns toward the door but he finds nothing but an empty front porch, his overgrown lawn and, beyond that, the lake. Zayn is already gone.

“Fuck,” he says, running a hand back through his greasy, unwashed hair. He definitely has dried ice cream and drool on his chin too. Melvin turns around from the door and he looks very unimpressed with Harry’s antics. “I didn’t mean for him to actually leave,” he tells the cat.

Melvin walks away with his nose in the air. Harry rolls his eyes at him. He walks out to the front porch to make sure Zayn isn’t waiting there for him – he’s not. Back inside, he turns off the TV and decides to finally take a much-needed shower. He knows the onus is on him to go back to Zayn this time but he also knows that he smells like two-day old sushi and that is never an impressive sight.

By the time he showers and gets dressed, pushes his curls back with a head scarf, it’s nearly time for his shift at Aurora. He knows he can’t blow that off, again, so he promises himself, and Melvin, he’ll go to Zayn afterwards. As he walks, he decides to put it all out on the line when he next sees Zayn – how he feels and how scared he is for the ending, the one he doesn’t want to come. Wherever the dice fall after that, Harry promises he’ll have no regrets.

Aurora is lit up when he gets there, the Halloween lights and lanterns on the steps in festive fashion for Halloween’s eve. Sue Anne is working, dressed as a spy of all things.

“Aren’t you a day early?” Harry asks as he shoves his bag in its normal cubby.

“I don’t work tomorrow,” she says, adjusting the manacle hanging from a chain around her neck. “And I didn’t want to waste a costume.”

“Of course not,” Harry says, smiling and going to the sink to wash his hands.

Sue Anne follows him and leans against the wall by the sink. “How’s your thing with Zayn?” She’s clearly been working a shift alone and Harry knows she hates the lack of gossip that lingers when she’s on her own.

Harry studies her for a moment, gauging if she’s being mischievous in asking or genuinely curious. He decides on the latter. “Good. We’re good.” He grabs a paper towel and smiles at her even when she coos at him like a mother pigeon. The truth is that they will be. Once Harry talks to him and they pick up a few chipped pieces of their thing, whatever it is, they’ll be fine. Harry never wanted them not to be.

He takes his time sweeping the floors and taking the garbage out once Kaya leaves for the night. Then he unplugs the strings of lights and locks the back door, adjusting his jacket and beanie before walking the short distance to Niall’s. The butterflies are back in his stomach, hesitant but there. Even a day apart makes him miss Zayn and he thinks in the middle of everything else they need to talk about, he’ll tell Zayn that too.

Horan’s Inn is decorated for Halloween with the pumpkins they all picked out on the front porch and Halloween creatures hanging from the edges of the roof. It’s only the beginning, though – for the Halloween party tomorrow there will be giant, blow-up figures in the yard, a graveyard along the walkway and skeletons hanging from the windows.

Harry goes in the front door, careful to be quiet and mindful of the guests already sleeping. Niall must hear the door creak open because he comes trudging out from the back kitchen smiling his host smile but letting it dim when he sees it’s only Harry.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

Harry smirks, “Don’t roll out the red carpet by any means.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “A lot of late nights.”

Niall stares at him, his nostrils flaring. “Anyway. What are you doing here so late?”

Harry laughs, “Just came by to say hello. And see Zayn.”

Niall tilts his head, “To see Zayn?”

“Yeah.” Harry tucks his hands in his pockets, “I kind of need to apologize to him for waiting so long to find him after he apologized to me. It’s all a lot of miscommunication.” He waves his hand around between them, “I won’t bore you with the details.”

Niall nods, “No, yeah. Zayn told me there was something going down between you two. But, like, aren’t you too late?”

Harry looks at the clock beyond Niall’s shoulder—Nine-thirty isn’t exactly business hours but it’s not _that_ late. “I’m sure he’ll be awake,” he says.

“Me too,” Niall says laughing a bit hesitantly. “But didn’t he just get on a plane a couple of hours ago?”

Harry’s heart squeezes harder in his chest. “What?”

Niall’s eyes go wider. “He didn’t tell you?”

Harrys eye twitches. “He’s gone?”

Niall looks toward the stairs and back at Harry. “You didn’t know?”

Harry shakes his head frantically, his heart trying to come up through his throat. “No.” It comes out choked. “He didn’t tell me.”

Niall is looking at Harry like he can’t believe he’s the one who has to tell Harry this. “He said he was going to see you this afternoon and then when he came back he was all in a rush because his editor called him and had booked a flight to New York for tonight. I got him a cab up to the airport in Charleston and he left.”

“What the fuck?” Harry runs both hands over his face and Niall winces.

“Did he not come see you?”

“No, no, he did,” Harry says, his voice going high and a bit manic. “I was just the fucker who stayed on the couch dramatically and didn’t get up to go talk to him. He probably thinks I’m pissed at him.”

Niall opens and closes his mouth. “And you just stayed on the couch dramatically? What does that mean?”

“Fuck.” Harry pulls at his hair and then he starts for the stairs. “Fuck me.”

“Where are you going?” Niall follows after him, his voice getting louder, “Harry?”

Harry’s not sure what he is trying to prove as he runs the stairs to the second floor and goes to the room Zayn has been staying in. The door is cracked and he pushes it fully open with his heart pounding. The room is empty, the sheets stripped off the bed, floor spotless and dresser empty. Harry swallows hard.

Niall is breathless from behind him, clearly having chased him up the stairs. “Did you not believe me, or?”

Harry doesn’t answer just walks towards the desk and runs his fingertips over the empty top. He tugs open the top drawer and his heart jars at the red notebook inside. He doesn’t fall to his knees in despair or clutch the notebook to his chest, he just takes it out and flips through it – finds it completely empty.

“Did he say anything before he left?” Harry doesn’t look at Niall.

“I told you, he said he was going to go talk to you and when he came back he went straight to the airport.”

Harry nods and taps the notebook against his leg. Everything in him deflates like a nail to a balloon. “Well. There’s that, then.”

Niall’s eyebrows pull together when Harry looks at him. “What does that mean? Can’t you just call him?”

Harry shakes his head, “No. He’s gone Niall and he’s not coming back. What’s the point?”

Niall makes a bunch of aborted noises like he’s coming up with valid points but Harry just brushes back past him. The truth is he fell for Zayn and Zayn fell for him, simple. The other truth is that timing and life wasn’t on their side despite it – In the end Zayn doesn’t belong in Summerville and Harry always will. That part is simple too.

...

That night when Harry gets in bed, his sleep is restless. He wakes up more exhausted than when he first went to bed and he’s antsy. He doesn’t want to wallow on the couch with Antique Road Show again and he doesn’t want to listen to his own thoughts so he does the next best thing he can think of, which is to throw himself into cleaning.

He vacuums the couch, takes the entire thing apart and vacuums the creases too and then scoots it to the wall so he can vacuum underneath. He scrubs the kitchen floor on his hands and knees with his hair in a messy knot on top of his head then he cleans the refrigerator and throws out food that’s getting old. He washes his sheets and cleans between the tiles in his shower and around his bathroom sink. He dusts until he’s coughing on the remnants in the air and then he reorganizes all of the containers under his bed. He puts the magnets in a new order on his refrigerator and he sweeps his front porch. The result is that his house is spotless by the afternoon but he’s gathered an entire pile of things that belong to Zayn—sweatshirts, beanies, chewed up pens. He doesn’t know what to do with any of that stuff so he shoves it in his closet.

Then, he does what he shouldn’t and he gets out a bottle of cider and the cinnamon whiskey and makes his favorite drink. He lights the peach candle Zayn bought for him just to be a martyr and drinks alone, watching the flame.

He resolutely tries not to think about Zayn, about how badly this all hurts. There’s nothing left to do or say now – Zayn is gone and he’s not coming back. Harry tells himself that each time his thoughts start to wander to if he got off the couch sooner, if Zayn’s editor never called. If the train didn’t run off the tracks so soon. In another universe, Harry is sure their souls align perfectly and timing is on their side -- just not in this one. The more Harry drinks the more his mind solidifies the idea that Zayn will always be the one who got away. Through his hazy mind, Harry doesn’t consider the fact that he doesn’t have to be.

Louis shows up once it gets dark, opening Harry’s door with the key from under the miserable gnome in the side yard. “Ah, yes, there you are,” he says as soon as he steps inside.

Harry grins, his lips numb from whiskey and cider. “Just a little pregame,” he says.

“Sure.” Louis crosses his arms, “I’ve come to fetch Minnie Mouse, so please go change.”

Harry shakes his head, “That was only charming when I was going with Mickey Mouse.”

“Yeah, well, Mickey is gone and we don’t really have time for you to come up with anything else.”

Harry stares at Louis blankly. “Um, ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice doesn’t match the apology. He takes Harry’s cup from him and takes a sip. “Go get ready, please.”

Just like when they were seven and nine Harry trudges into his bedroom on Louis’ orders. He puts on his pink and white polka dot shirt and black jeans, shoving his feet into a pair of boots. There’s some face paint and a headband with circle ears too but he just settles for the headband and goes paint less—at least the headband will keep his hair out of his face.

In the kitchen, Louis has put away the cider and whiskey and blown out the candle. He rolls his eyes when he sees Harry and comes over to straighten his ears and button his shirt up further.

“Hey,” Harry says, “I’m on the prowl for Mickey tonight.”

Louis rolls his eyes, again. He’s very good at it. “Put a jacket on and let’s go.”

Harry’s personal pregame turns out to be a good choice for him once they get to the party because he can avoid everyone asking him where Zayn is. A small town means everyone knows what they’ve been up to but good friends means word hasn’t gotten out that Zayn is gone yet. Harry shrugs a lot and drinks a few beers eventually escaping out to the back porch of the inn for some solace.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to find Zayn and escape back to his house for a different kind of fun. He finds himself sitting on the back stairs and wishing for an alternate ending to their story, not one that had to be so sad. His tipsy hope rises when he hears the back door open but then settles once Liam comes out and sits next to him.

“I brought you a cider,” he says, handing it to Harry. “Louis told me I wasn’t allowed to add whiskey to it.”

“Louis thinks he’s a dad,” Harry says, taking the bottle. “He’s also right. I’m all worn out on whiskey.”

Liam laughs and then they both go quiet, sipping their drinks. After a moment, Liam talks first. “For what it’s worth, Louis and Niall both say to call Zayn.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head, “Such good friends.” He raises his bottle and takes another drink. “It doesn’t matter if I call. It’s too late to mean anything.”

“Didn’t he just leave yesterday?”

“Yeah. But, like, what are we going to do? Long distance will never work and he’s not going to come back to South Carolina. No one chooses to live here.”

“Hey,” Liam says, “I did.”

Harry bites his lip, “You know I don’t mean it badly, Li.”

“No,” Liam pats his knee once, “I know.”

Harry shrugs. “There’s no point in calling because nothing is ever going to change. I had hoped there would be a chance but I don’t think there really is. He couldn’t stay here and I always will,” he repeats his favorite mantra.

“You won’t even ask?”

Harry takes a sip from his cider and rests the edge of the bottle on his bottom lip. “It’s terrible to say but I almost don’t want to ruin it more by talking to him. Cold turkey is better, there’s no sour note to end it.”

Liam looks over at him, “Dies out quietly into the night.”

Harry nods.

“And if that’s not how he feels about it?”

That makes Harry pause but only for a moment, “I don’t think it matters. I’m hurting over it too but it doesn’t change anything.

Liam sighs but then it’s quiet again. “Are you happy, Harry?”

Harry looks at him, “What?”

“Are you happy? Day in and day out, living here, are you happy?”

Harry closes his eyes for a beat, “Not always.”

Liam peels the label on his beer and studies his fingers. “Zayn made you happy though, didn’t he?”

Harry nods. “He did.” Harry twists the top of his bottle against his lips. “He does,” he says. “In any other world, he still would. Just not this one.”

Liam’s smile is sad and Harry thinks he sees pity behind his eyes—worse than when Melvin did it.

“I’m sorry I’m such a buzz kill,” Harry says. “On Halloween and everything. You can just leave me out here, Lima. I swear won’t be offended.”

“I actually might need to go inside to find London soon, she thinks I abandon her at parties,” Liam says. “But I have one more thing to tell you and you might call me a dad for it, okay?”

Harry wraps his arms around his legs and rests his chin on top of his knees. “Okay.”

“You might be right about the Zayn thing, the bad timing and everything. But I don’t think you’re right about you always staying here. Maybe it’s time for you to, you know, go.”

“Go where?”

Liam sighs, “I think that’s for you to decide. Out of all of us, you’re the one who has always had itchy feet. I know this isn’t the ideal circumstance for any sort of self-discovery but I would hate for you to be stuck here for the rest of your life. Especially when nothing is permanently holding you down.”

Harry stares out into the backyard, his jaw flexing. He doesn’t have permanence like a good job or a partner or an owned house. Everything he has can be liquidized if he wants it to be. “Good reminder thanks.”

“Harry, you know I’m only trying to help.”

Harry nods, “No, I’m serious. I think I forget that there are no chains on my ankles.” His voice cracks and he shakes his head. He’s not upset at the reminder, it hurts that he has to be reminded, that sometimes he feels like he has no other options but to be stuck. Zayn was like a shot of novacane to the feeling but now he’s gone too.

Liam ruffles Harry’s hair like he’s dog as he gets up to go back inside. His words leave an open can of worms in their wake and Harry can’t avoid any of them squirming and making homes in his head.

...

Harry has a massive hangover the day after Halloween but once that passes life returns to perfectly ordinary. Perfectly ordinary as in before Zayn swept through the town like Harry’s own personal hurricane and swept out just as quietly.

Harry dutifully opens Aurora in the mornings and brings Todd Danza his latte with coconut milk. He keeps the finances in order and he makes conversation with the regulars while winning over the newbies. He takes the desserts to Niall – apple pies and cranberry muffins—and he help Louis install security cameras after Aurora gets TP’ed by some of the high school kids in town.

“I’ll give them credit for skill,” Louis says as he surveys the damage, “But just this once. This shit will not happen again.”

Harry gets two more magnets from Gemma in the first two weeks of the month – Scottsdale, Arizona and Miami, Florida. She never did like fall as much as Harry so it’s fitting that she’s fleeing for warmer weather. Harry takes diligent care of Melvin even takes him to the veterinarian for his senior cat shots and switches his food to the diet kind when he finds out Melvin is overweight. Melvin is less than happy about those two developments.

Everything is normal for Harry. Of course there are parts of him that miss Zayn relentlessly, parts disappointed to see Zayn hasn’t called. He still stands firm on the ground that they can’t work together but it doesn’t stop him from wanting Zayn – wanting to touch him, talk to him, watch Antique Road Show, and talk about both of their eventuallys. As days pass and Zayn still doesn’t call, Harry thinks that maybe he’s settled on that same ground.

Between the normality and between the Zayn moments, Harry does soul searching. Soul searching that comes by way of walking in circles around the lake and starting to put together a resume that he might actually want to send somewhere. Part of it comes from Louis’ reminder of how Harry has always wanted to use his degree for something, part from Zayn who unintentionally wrote out Harry’s biggest fear of getting stuck, and part from Liam on Halloween when he told him there’s nothing permanently holding him down to where he is.

All of them are right but Harry knows he has to be the one to take the leap. Some nights, he’s brave and he browses through job listings on the internet but some nights he’s not so brave and he watches TLC with Melvin and a bottle of wine.

He doesn’t tell any of his friends what he’s doing nor his family. He knows his friends will want to help and only push him harder and he doesn’t want anyone pressing in on his back like that. As for his family, his mom in particular, he doesn’t want to get her hopes up. She had looked so crestfallen when he explained Zayn had to leave for work and they wouldn’t be staying together and he wouldn’t be coming to Thanksgiving. Harry knows his mom wants him to leave but he also knows she’ll never say it out loud. He sees it in her eyes though, she wishes for so much more for him than the way he feels in Summerville and if everything fails he doesn’t want her to know that he tried and still came back empty.

November fourteenth falls on a Tuesday and besides being particularly rainy it doesn’t seem any different to Harry. He sent his resume to six places the night before, all places outside of South Carolina, all places he’s never been. He also chewed six antacid pills to try and cool the curling heat in his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t expect to hear back even if it’s just a rejection letter that comes from the six resumes. The market is tough and he’s hardly qualified for some of the positions but he still checks his email three times an hour and makes sure he always has enough bars to get calls. Louis, as usual, is the first one to eye his odd behavior suspiciously but he doesn’t say anything about it.

That second Tuesday of November, as ordinary as any other, Harry goes to work in the morning and heads home just before dinnertime, the light rain soaking through his hood. He grabs the mail from the mailbox out front before walking up the path to his front door. There’s a box from Amazon which he’s sure is the new Fredrik Blackman book he ordered. He tosses all of the rest of the mail on the counter in the kitchen and tears open the box for the book. He starts reading while he cooks dinner, pausing to feed Melvin and then starting again while he eats at the counter.

He finds a stopping place halfway through eating and goes back to browsing the rest of his mail. He’s sure there are bills he needs to pay, as unfortunate and as adult as that is. He turns out to be right--there is a water bill and his cellphone bill which he puts face down on the countertop to ignore a while longer. Beneath those, a smaller padded envelope catches his eye. He didn’t think Gemma was going anywhere this week so there shouldn’t be a magnet from her. He flips it over and instantly knows it’s not from Gemma, he doesn’t recognize the block letter writing.

He props the envelope up against his water glass while he finishes eating, studying it. Reasonably, he knows it can’t be threatening--whatever it is that’s inside. He doesn’t know, though, who else would send him anything besides his sister so he has to have an internal debate until his plate is completely wiped empty. Then, his patience disappears like a huff of air and he tears open the package.

A small square falls to the counter with a yellow sticky note attached. He reads the six words and one standalone letter once, and then again: _To add to the list. Eventually. Z._ Beneath the sticky note is indeed a magnet, red with a giant apple that says New York across it. Harry stares at it until his eyes sting and then he runs his fingers over the lettering of the note again, his heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn’t know what it means, why Zayn sent it. A sign of where he is, an olive branch of reaching out, or simply a sign of solidarity that they both still have their Eventually Lists, they’re both still working on the same things. A sign that there’s no bad blood between them—a sign that Zayn too understands they can’t work together. In any case, whatever it is, Harry puts the magnet on his refrigerator and tucks the note in his nightstand.

...

Despite Harry’s expectation not to hear anything back from his sent applications, he does get two rejection emails. His heart pounds as he reads both, simple thank you but no thank you notes automated in reply. Still, it’s something. It’s a small reminder sending out cover letters and resumes into the void eventually land somewhere. Even if the only thing they bounce against is a rejection board, at least it’s a start.

He sends out seven more in the next weekend and then fifteen more over the next week.

Along with the handful, fistful really, of rejection notices he gets two phone interviews as well. He doesn’t say a word to anyone about them, scheduling them both for a Friday afternoon he has off from work. Afterwards, he only hears back from one of the companies and the day before Thanksgiving he does a Skype interview in his kitchen with Melvin locked in his bedroom.

Once it’s over, he doesn’t get a chance to dwell over it for too long because there’s a knock on his front door. When he leans toward the entryway to see who it is, he gives an undignified screech as he sees Gemma standing in the doorway.

“You didn’t think I’d leave you forever, did you?” She asks into his hair once he lets her in and hugs her so tight neither of them can breathe.

“Of course not,” Harry says in response even though his voice is watery and his eyes burn.

...

Thanksgiving is the happiest Harry has been in weeks with just him, his sister, mom, and stepdad. Somehow, it’s enough.

“You’re planning something,” his mom says when he helps with dishes after they eat.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Gemma says from behind them where she’s eating pie straight from the pan.

“Why do you say that?” Harry tries to laugh but it’s an airy sound.

“You keep smiling to yourself,” his mom says. “Doesn’t he, Gems?”

“Exactly,” she says, pointing her fork at him accusingly. “There’s a plot going on in your head.”

“Well, I’m not planning anything,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and biting down on his lip.

“Whatever it is, we support you one-hundred percent.” His mom smiles when he looks over and rolls his eyes. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, both of you are wonderful dots of stardust destined for more than you can even imagine.”

“Mom.” This time he and Gemma are in tune as they groan.

Gemma stays through the weekend and tries to get Harry to spill on why he keeps checking his phone but he stays quiet. Eventually, she gives up and they just watch holiday movies, eat too much pie, and drink wine while playing Scrabble with their parents. Harry wins twice in a row so, maybe his English degree is worth something after all.

...

In the middle of the following week, three things happen in the span of a few minutes.

Harry gets another envelope with Zayn’s handwriting on the cover that he rips open on his kitchen counter. A magnet slips out with another sticky note and a folded piece of paper. Harry goes for the note first. There’s only one word on this one, underlined three times: _Eventually_. Harry flips the magnet over and his breath catches in the bottom of his throat and burns there as he takes in a city skyline with Chicago printed underneath. He unfolds the white piece of paper, eyebrows pulling together as he tries to decipher what it is that Zayn has sent him. It’s a bunch of legal jargon that Zayn must have known Harry would skip because he’s circled the important part, at least for Harry to see: His name signed under a rental agreement for an apartment in Chicago. Zayn went home just like he said, and he’s staying right there. And out of everyone, he wants Harry to be the one to know.

Before he can take it in fully, being to process what any of that is supposed to mean, his phone rings with a call from an unknown number. Harry drops the magnet and note in favor of the phone, answering with his eyes closed. He hangs up twenty minutes later after accepting an entry-level position as assistant to Baz Hartman, a literary agent at Barrelman Publishing in Chicago, Illinois.

It’s around then that he starts crying, snotting all over himself in his kitchen with no one to judge him but Melvin. Melvin, of course, judges him enough for a room full of people.

...

Harry wishes he could be more mysterious with his news, prolong the announcement until the last moment but he just about runs to Aurora to tell Louis and Liam who hug him and slap his back so hard the wind gets knocked out of him.

“I should also mention that I quit,” he tells Louis, grinning so hard his cheeks are sore. “I can still be your consultant but I quit.”

Next, he runs up to Horan’s Inn and yells through the kitchen until Niall appears, eyes wild and a frying pan in his hand held up like a weapon. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Harry tells him he’s leaving, that he’s going to Chicago for a job and then Niall starts crying and Harry starts tearing up all over again.

“We can never tell anyone this happened,” Niall says, squeezing Harry’s middle.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, sniffling himself.

He calls Gemma while he drives to his mom’s house and she screams so loudly he almost drives off the road in fright. His mom reacts similarly, talking a mile a minute and crying over her words.

By the time Harry gets into bed, he’s emotionally drained and his face hurts from the laughing and smiling, and he’s dehydrated from crying more than he has in at least twenty years. It’s just that the ring dangling above his head since graduating college, the one he never though he’d be able to reach is finally in his view, close enough to stretch out and grab.

The only person he doesn’t tell about the job and impending move is Zayn. It crossed his mind in the afternoon, to call or at least text, but in the end he didn’t. Under his sheets and with his book closed in the spot next to him, he tries to pinpoint why he decided not to. He thinks part of it may be that he wants to do something grand—like show up to Zayn’s apartment unannounced. Another part, quieter and stronger, tells him it’s because this is for him. This isn’t about his sister, his friends, his mom, or even Zayn, this is about him growing up and taking the leap on his own.

Still, he can’t ignore that he would have taken this job if it had been in Boise, Idaho instead. The impact of it being in Chicago—well, he kind of thinks the universe might be trying to tell him something.

...

January third, Harry gets on his first ever airplane at the Charleston International Airport.

The month leading up to the moment he’s in right then didn’t actually take much effort at all. He renegotiated the rent agreement on his house by the lake and moved all of his stuff to his mom’s house around Christmas. He called an estate agent in Chicago and she helped him to find an apartment. It turns out by living cheaply in the south west, his money fits nicely into a mid-class apartment in downtown Chicago. “See, that’s why you came home after college,” Louis told him when Harry showed him the pictures of his new place.

He packed his boxes into a U-Haul trailer, including his magnets, which is set to arrive on his new doorstep twenty-four hours after he does. His biggest time commitment came in the form of going away parties, his favorite being him and his three childhood best friends out at the snowy lake on Christmas eve, toasting to the future and Louis’ birthday.

Harry didn’t think of Zayn often over the past month, only enough to remind himself he never told him he got the Chicago magnet, told him he was proud of him. He knows he can always call Zayn but, cautiously, he hopes there will be a chance to tell Zayn in person. He still hasn’t thought that far ahead yet.

As for Melvin, Harry tried to donate him to his mom and stepdad but, in true Melvin fashion, he fought with the family cat after being in the house for five minutes.

So, now, in the terminal of flight eight-twelve from Charleston to Chicago, Harry has a worn leather shoulder bag and a cat carrier with one heavily sedated Melvin inside. It was the veterinarian’s best recommendation and as Harry gets on the plane, he wishes he had taken a couple of sedatives too.

Melvin’s carrier sits in the seat next to Harry – purchased at the same price as a human seat, so it that’s not love, Harry doesn’t know what is. Harry’s fingers cramp from holding onto the armrests so tightly during the flight and he goes cross eyed from staring at his boots for so long. He can’t even look out the window of the plane but he imagines it’s epic—a beautiful scene of breaking free from everything he’s always known for somewhere he’s never been.

He takes a cab to his new apartment with Melvin and is happy to find he has not, in fact, been scammed out of anything. Unfortunately, in his planning to have everything delivered the day after his arrival, he’s left with nothing but hard, cold floors to sleep on.

“We didn’t think this through, did we?” Harry says once he lets Melvin out of his carrier. Melvin plops on the cold floor and waves his tail around unceremoniously. “Fine, I didn’t think this through, did I?” Melvin meows as if to agree.

Harry locks Melvin in the apartment and takes to the streets in search of a hotel they can both stay in for a night. He’s hoping if he actually talks to the hotel manager face to face, they’ll understand that he has a cat and bend the strict no pet policies that most places seem to have. Maybe that’s just the small town boy in him.

Chicago is big, huge even. Harry has never been in a city where he can’t quite see the sky above some of the buildings nor where people press and curve in around all edges. It’s intimidating and it makes the town he comes from seem even smaller and insignificant. He gets honked at by a bus when he tries to cross the road and cussed out by a grown woman when he bumps into someone because he’s too busy looking up at the sky.

His heart flutters in his chest and his lungs tremble with the thought that maybe he’s got it wrong; maybe he was never cut out for moving to a big city with a shiny new job. Maybe his destiny really was the town where he was born and raised.

He gets turned around on the streets and can’t figure out where he’s going within five minutes of leaving his new apartment. He scans each passing face for some familiarity. In his plaid shirt and headband he thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb here and he’s embarrassed. Embarrassed to have thought he could do this on his own.

In the midst of burning under his own shame, he spots a hotel with a cat in the logo. He’s naïve enough to think it’s another sign from the universe and he heads straight for it. It does actually turn out to be a cat friendly hotel and he gets himself and Melvin one room for the night, charged to his credit card by the lady at the front desk who twirls her hair while she talks to him.

Back out on the street, he feels infinitesimally more confident as he heads back toward his apartment. He’ll get Melvin, get back to the hotel, and then get a bottle of wine. Everything will look better in the morning with wine and a little sleep.

He tries to look carefully at his surroundings as he walks back home, the coffee shop and nearby dry cleaners, the people rushing around and weaving around him. It’s only when he’s back to his apartment that he realizes he’s looking for Zayn. Hoping, maybe, the universe will have a say in that too.

In the lobby of his apartment, thinking about Zayn and how much he misses him like a permanent ache, he knocks right into someone carrying a bag of groceries.

“Oh my god,” Harry says, dropping to his knees to help pick up the spilled contents immediately. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine.” The girl he has run into has curly red hair and is looking at him like he’s going to steal her groceries. He stands up and clears his throat as he hands her a bunch of peaches. She shoves them in her bag and turns away quickly, half looking at him like he’s going to steal something.

“I’m sorry, again,” he says to her retreating back. Like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz, he’s definitely not in Summerville anymore.

“Harry?”

He freezes at the voice before turning slowly to face Zayn coming out of the stairwell with a black leather jacket pulled over a grey Henley. So perhaps the universe wants to play after all. Harry takes a deep breath.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks, letting the door close behind him.

Harry opens his mouth to say something but he doesn’t know where to begin. “I live here,” he says – as good of a place to begin as any.

“What?”

Harry shuffles on his feet and scratches under his headscarf. “I don’t know where to start, really,” he admits. Something about Zayn still makes him want to tell the truth.

A crowd of people comes through the lobby right then and Zayn grabs Harry’s wrist to pull him to the side and out of the way. “Anywhere is a good place.” His voice is tight and Harry’s stomach shakes as all of the butterflies shake out their wings like they’ve been waiting for this very moment.

“I guess the best place to start is with that day you came to my house, before you left.”

Zayn’s eyebrows draw together, “That’s a good one, yeah.”

Harry’s eyes shift but he makes himself stop and focus on Zayn. “I heard everything you said but I was trying to prove a point so I didn’t come to the door.”

Zayn swallows, “What point?”

Harry shakes his head, “I can’t even remember now.” He half laughs before going quiet. Standing here so close to Zayn he wants to go back to the way things were, he wants to tell Zayn the timing is right and that even if it’s not he wants him anyway. He doesn’t want him to be the one who got away. He bites his lip, “Then I went to Niall’s to find you and you were already gone.”

“My agent called me to meet with my editor and said she’d booked the flight already thinking I would be over Summerville and want to come right away.”

Harry tries not to grimace, “So you had to go.”

Zayn nods, “I may be published but I can’t afford to just miss flights.” He runs both hands back through his hair, “But then I never heard from you. I thought you wanted space but then I left the state and you didn’t say anything. I sent you those magnets and there was still nothing.” His voice gets louder as his eyes go darker. “I was in love with you and you didn’t even try to call me.” He laughs and shakes his head, “And then you show up here.”

Harry presses his hands to his eyes before letting them drop to his sides. The train that was on the tracks two months ago is exploding in front of him and he needs to figure out where the off button is. “I thought it didn’t matter,” Harry admits. “You left and I knew you wouldn’t come back. There was no point prolonging the inevitable.”

Zayn’s laugh sounds breathless. “I had to go meet with my editor about a new contract and I didn’t know how long it was going to take. I didn’t die.”

Harry bites his lip, “I thought you left for good and you thought I didn’t care.”

“I would have come back in a heartbeat,” Zayn says, “But I thought you didn’t actually want me.”

Harry closes his eyes, “So you sent me the magnet?”

“I wanted to reach out and I didn’t know how so I did that. When you didn't call me or anything I kind of accepted you were over it.”

Harry nods, chewing on the corner of his lip. "And then what?"

He shrugs, “I stayed in New York for a couple of weeks but then I knew I needed to go home, I needed to knock off my eventually. Once I got here, I knew I had to stay. I’ve been running for too long.”

“I was working on mine too,” Harry says quietly. “I was applying to jobs and then I got one in Chicago. The same day you sent me your magnet. Our eventually happened on the same day, actually.”

Zayn half smiles and shakes his head. “You still didn’t call to tell me? I felt so foolish sending you my lease agreement and not hearing anything back. I figured you hated me.”

Harry takes Zayn’s hand in both of his, he’s happy that Zayn doesn’t jolt or pull away. He just looks at Harry like he wants to understand. “I wanted to tell you in person and I think that's what took so long. I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of both of us for finally doing what we said we would.”

“So you were planning to call me once you got here?” Zayn’s eye twitches.

Harry shakes his head, “I don’t know. I was kind of waiting for fate to step in and make the timing right again. Tell me if I was doing this right.”

“In a city of three million people and you were expecting fate to step in?” Zayn squeezes Harry’s hands in his, his eyes manic.

Harry swallows, “We’re here now aren’t we?”

Zayn pulls away to run his hands over his face. “All this time, I thought you hated me for that email and that you never wanted to talk to me again.”

“No, not at all. You leaving put some things in perspective for me. I knew I had to make myself happy on my own first and then you were next. I always wanted you I just didn’t know how to make it work. Then when I ended up here, I thought there was a chance. I didn’t expect it to happen on my first night in my new apartment but I promise you, you were next.”

Zayn takes a deep breath, “Your new apartment?”

“Third floor,” Harry confirms.

Zayn nods a few times silently. “I’m on the fourth.”

“Here?” Harry points up towards the ceiling, the fourth floor a little beyond that.

“Here,” Zayn confirms.

There’s a pause and Harry’s heart skips a beat, waiting for Zayn to see he’s already met someone since moving home, that he doesn’t want him anymore, that his dramatics are too much.

And then, Zayn’s eyes go warm in Harry’s favorite way and he says, “Do you want to come up and see my place?”

Harry nods, “I would really like that.”

“I can make you dinner too, if you want. In my own kitchen now.”

Harry nods, biting his lip. The butterflies erupt in his stomach, straight to his heart where they flap their wings in time with his heartbeat. “Yes, please. Can we stop at my apartment first though? Melvin is in there.”

“Melvin?” Zayn gasps, as he presses the button for the elevator. “I’ve missed him most, I think.”

“Hey,” Harry says, “What about me?”

Zayn purses his lips, “I’ll tell you how much I missed you eventually.”

“I’m starting to hate that word.”

The elevator doors slide open and they step inside.

“Come here,” Zayn says and Harry looks at him.

“Where?”

He crooks his finger so Harry steps in closer. Then Zayn touches his face, so softly it nearly hurts, and then he kisses Harry’s lips as the elevator doors slide shut. Harry is the furthest he’s ever been from everything he’s ever known but kissing Zayn right there feels a lot like coming home.

“Mm,” Zayn says, pulling back. “I missed that. Still sweet like a Georgia peach.”

Harry stares at him, licks his bottom lip and then says, “We’re in Chicago.”

Zayn grins and grabs his hand as they watch the elevator tick off the floors as it rises. “Yes, we are. And together at that. I wonder what happens next.”

Harry’s butterflies all take flight at once, coming up through his lips like laughter as he leans into Zayn’s shoulder before he kisses the side of his neck. “So do I.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
